


The Impossible Children

by TheCaitalloWrites



Category: Doctor Who, Glee, The X-Files, Torchwood
Genre: Alien Abduction, Crossover, Gen, Mpreg, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCaitalloWrites/pseuds/TheCaitalloWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something strange is going on with Kurt Hummel, and when it turns out to be something stranger than he ever could have imagined, his friends and the eccentric Dr. Samuels do what they can to help him get through it.  (Glee more or less canon compliant up to s4 episode "I Do")</p>
<p>Tish Jones has been abducted and impregnated, and Torchwood are on the case. With The Doctor's help, they'll have to try to investigate and stop the abductions that are apparently happening to more than just Tish. (This is not canon compliant post s2, and Martha and Mickey are on the team now.)</p>
<p>Hearing about abductions and strange pregnancies of men and women alike, special Agents Mulder and Scully are also on the case. (Post series, sort of compliant with s10 comics, but maybe not entirely, timelines are a little wonky)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impossible beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This story occasionally deals with themes that may be triggering to some people. I will try to warn for them appropriately.

Several doctors visits over the course of the past 2 months had finally led to this. (Well, specifically a visit today that had ended abruptly with him fainting and his doctor being both very concerned and at a loss had landed him here.) Kurt sat alone on a hospital bed, looking around the room and trying to maintain some form of calm. It was hard to do when confronted with the fact that something was clearly wrong with him, but no one seemed to have any idea of what was going on.  
  
A tall, broad-shouldered man that Kurt had never seen before entered the room with a clipboard in hand and a jovial, friendly expression on his face. "Kurt Hummel?" He asked.  
  
"Yes," Kurt replied.  
  
"Hi, I'm Dr. John Samuels." The man extended his free hand, and Kurt shook it. "I've been going over your chart here, and I see that today you were admitted with shortness of breath, light-headedness, and fainting spells, is that correct?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," Kurt said.  
  
"And in the past month, you've had similar complaints as well as frequent urination, bouts of nausea, and a fairly persistent case of everything tasting like metal?"  
  
"Yeah," Kurt agreed warily. When put like that, somehow it all sounded even more ridiculous.  
  
"Well, Kurt, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were pregnant," The doctor replied.  
  
Kurt stared at him with a dry expression. Somehow, right now he just did not have a sense of humor about this. Mildly annoyed, he waited for the other man to get to the point.  
  
"That was a joke," Dr. Samuels said, "I used to be an OB." He paused. "And clearly, never a comedian."  
  
He had just been trying to lighten the mood; the guy had at least attempted bedside manner, and Kurt had shot him down for it. Kurt sighed. "Sorry, it's just this whole thing has just been so crazy, and I'd really like to know what's going on, but no one seems to have any answers."  
  
"Kurt—it is okay if I call you by your first name, right?" The other man began.  
  
"Of course," Kurt said.  
  
"Kurt, I will do everything in my power to get us some answers, okay? Right now, we're waiting on some blood work. Now, has anyone been around to get any information from you, like emergency contact or insurance information or anything like that?"  
  
Kurt shook his head and thought of who his "emergency contact" should be. Rachel was the most logical choice, but he did not want to use her information if that meant someone would call her now. He did not want to deal with Rachel at the moment. There was also Santana, his other roommate and close friend, but he was pretty sure he also did not feel like dealing with her at the moment either, if for totally different reasons than Rachel. He realized then that he really wanted his dad; he felt smaller with that realization, like some sort of frightened child.  
  
"Okay, well, someone should be around shortly for that stuff. Now I'm going to go do some doctor-y things, okay?" Dr. Samuels said. His tone was so caring and genuine, and he actually was helping to make things less scary and weird. Despite his initial resistance, Kurt found himself having to admit he liked the guy already.  
  
When Kurt was alone once again, he called his dad. He was not sure of how to explain the situation, so he avoided excessive detail. He stressed that he was probably okay, but admitted that he was scared. He tried to talk his dad out of coming but was secretly relieved when Burt said he would be there as soon as possible.  
  
Over the course of the next few hours, Kurt was subjected to more physical examination and testing. He saw several practitioners of various descriptions, and he answered a lot of questions. He saw very little of the man who had promised him answers and had really seemed to care, and he was not sure what to make of that.

  


Nothing seemed to be adding up. They had no conclusive diagnostic findings to go on, just symptoms. Symptoms so random and seemingly unrelated and so...odd. There was something so odd about the whole thing, and that was what really struck Dr. Samuels.  
  
He swore under his breath. He had promised that boy answers, and he intended to keep that promise. He knew now, though, why the other doctors and nurses were at a loss. Quite a few of them theorized that the symptoms were unrelated; there was no underlying condition uniting everything, or, according to some there was nothing real wrong at all. These theories were at best dissatisfying and at worst infuriating to Dr. Samuels, and they left a foul taste in his mouth.  
  
The symptoms Kurt had described and the inconclusive but not entirely normal results of nearly every test done from blood to urine to something as simple as blood pressure had to mean something. There had to be a connection to make sense of it all.  
  
There was still more they could do. He brainstormed until an idea he deemed best struck him. "We need to see inside him..." Dr. Samuels muttered to himself; he had a hunch, one he was certain would pay off somehow but not without its share of resulting scoffs and eye-rolls. He would ignore these as usual. This was no normal condition, and therefore the time for normal avenues of diagnosis was passing quickly.  
  
It had been awhile since he had spoken with Kurt, so he figured it would be a good time to debrief and also let the boy know his plans. He found Kurt much like he had left him, except Kurt was more tired and—despite his best efforts to hide it—more anxious.  
  
Dr. Samuels placed a cursory knock on the already open door as he stepped in the room. "Hello, Kurt?"  
  
Kurt looked at him. Dr. Samuels could then see the hope in the boy's eyes, as well as the desperation that Kurt was also trying to hide. Kurt did not want him to see just how much, but he was clearly counting on Dr. Samuels. "Hey," he said finally.  
  
Dr. Samuels explained their findings so far as best as he could and as simply as he could. He made it a point to preface everything with some form of reassurance to make things less coldly medical and less terrifying.  
  
"So, what does all that really mean?" Kurt asked after Dr. Samuels had finished his explanation.  
  
"We're still trying to figure that out unfortunately," Dr. Samuels replied earnestly.  
  
"Great," Kurt said sarcastically. His tone was dry, but there was a clear bitterness beginning to seep into it.  
  
"So, there are some more things we're gonna do, if it's okay with you," Dr. Samuels began.  
  
"Sure. Why not?" Kurt replied.  
  
"Namely, I'd like to do an ultrasound and see if that tells us anything about what's going on inside you. Then, well, we'll go from there," Dr. Samuels explained.  
  
"Um, okay, then." Kurt still seemed wary, but genuinely willing to comply.

  


"Okay, now that I've been scoffed at sufficiently by my colleagues. We can get started," Dr. Samuels said, re-entering the room and getting everything set up and in order for the procedure.  
  
"Why would they scoff at you?" Kurt asked.  
  
Even though he was only partially sure the question was genuine and not rhetorical, Dr. Samuels replied, "Oh, they think I'm working on another wild theory, which I'm not, not yet. Right now, this is merely—well, I call it a hunch."  
  
"So, what exactly are you looking for then?" Kurt asked, both skeptical and curious.  
  
"I'm not certain, but I feel like this may be a good avenue of investigation, and I like to go with my intuition," Dr. Samuels replied, "Sorry I can't give you an exact answer yet."  
Kurt shrugged. "Well, at least you're trying."  
  
"It's all we can ever do, to try, I mean," Dr. Samuels said. Referring to a tube of gel he now had in his hand, he said, "Now, I'm gonna put some of this stuff on you, and it's gonna be kinda cold. Sorry, there's not much I can do about that but give you a heads up."  
  
They went silent as Dr. Samuels began to work. He was clearly focused, and Kurt found himself staring uncomfortably at the ceiling, trying not to think. Until finally, nervous curiosity got the better of Kurt, and he watched Dr. Samuels and the ultra sound display. "S-so, what kind of 'wild theory' would you be working on?" he asked.  
  
"I'm sort of—well, I don't want to say _infamous_ , but, um, _known_ for trusting my intuition about things which can be kind of frowned upon in hard sciences and medicine. Oh, and there's my belief in the paranormal and the extraterrestrial," Dr. Samuels explained. Then, he went very quiet and very still, unnervingly so. He seemed to mutter something under his breath. Kurt could make out words like "what" and "impossible".  
  
"What?" Kurt asked, "What is it?" He looked at the screen himself, but admittedly had trouble determining what he was looking at.  
  
"It-it makes an odd sort of sense of some of our other findings, but I-I don't understand how it is possible." Kurt was not sure if Dr. Samuels was answering him or still puzzling aloud to himself.  
  
"What?" Kurt asked again, more anxious than ever.  
  
"I- well, I can only tell you what it looks like," Dr. Samuels began.  
  
"Okay, well, then, tell me," Kurt urged him.  
  
"Well, there appears to be a structure here that should not be, or, well, normally would not be that seems to be almost uterine in nature," Dr. Samuels explained, indicating what he was describing on the screen, "and within, well, it looks like there's a life form, an embryo, or what at least appears to be." Dr. Samuels seemed utterly bewildered.  
  
Kurt was having difficulty registering the impossible words he had just been told. He stared blankly. This could not seriously be happening. Maybe Dr. Samuels was just making another bad joke, even if his entire demeanor told Kurt otherwise. "You're- you're not serious—"  
  
"I'm very serious," Dr. Samuels said, "I know; it doesn't make sense to me either. It's utterly baffling; there's no medical, no scientific explanation I can think of. I only know what I'm seeing here and what we've seen in your other test results."  
  
"How? How can this be? This can't be happening. It's not possible; it doesn't even make sense." An odd sense of panic was setting in. This was really happening even though it could not be happening; this impossible thing was somehow frighteningly real. Kurt stared at the impossibility on the display in horror and confusion.  
  
"I just don't know, Kurt. It's baffling; no, worse than 'baffling', we need a stronger word than 'baffling', but listen," Dr. Samuels paused, trying to make sure Kurt was listening. Once the scared boy made eye contact, he continued, "We will figure this out, okay? I-I promise you, Kurt." He knew he should not make promises, but he did not care; he felt compelled to help this boy in any way that he could.  
  
Kurt nodded, but he did not feel very reassured. How could he? None of this made any sense. How could Dr. Samuels fix that? What could he do? Kurt recognized that he had to trust Dr. Samuels and count on him, and reluctantly he was doing so, but he couldn't help but remain skeptical and anxious.  
  
"This is probably going to sound crazy," said Dr. Samuels after a significant pause, "And I'm sure my colleagues will agree with that, but since it looks so much like what it looks like, I think we can try to appropriate something called amniocentesis. In English, that means I'm going to have to stick you with a really long, but really thin needle, which I promise doesn't actually hurt as bad as it sounds, at least not according to most of the patients I've talked to or performed this on. The purpose is to pierce the, well, I don't wanna call it a uterus, but, you know, and draw out fluid to be analyzed. I—again, and I'm sorry, really— don't know exactly what we'll find, but I'm hoping for answers from this. It seems like a great place to look."  
  
This was a nightmare. Feeling utterly lost, Kurt stared at the man before him, as the doctor spouted medical terms and attempted reassurances and explanations. The words registered, but on a slight delay. Kurt simply could not focus.  
  
"Kurt?" Dr. Samuels asked, "You okay?"  
  
"Would you be?" Kurt retorted.  
  
"No, no, I don't suppose I would," Dr. Samuels said with clear sympathy, "but otherwise?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," Kurt said.  
  
"And you got all of that? You understand what I'd like to do next? How I'd like for us to proceed?" Dr. Samuels checked.  
  
"Yeah," Kurt said, "Yeah, you're gonna adapt a procedure that normally tests _something _to do with pregnancy to possibly figure out what the hell is inside me."__  
  
"Right," Dr. Samuels responded, "Nice summary." He paused as he headed for the exit. "Um, do you need us to contact anyone? Family or—?"  
  
"I called my dad, but I don't know exactly when he'll be here," Kurt replied, trying his best not to sound as pitifully alone and frightened as he suddenly felt. "I don't have my family here, and if it's all the same I don't want to involve my friends right now. As terrible as that sounds."  
  
"Okay," Dr. Samuels said, "Well, I'll be back in a bit, alright?"  
  
"Okay," Kurt said.


	2. Truths and choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with abortion. If that topic is triggering for you, please use your own discretion.

Kurt did not know whether he wanted his dad to arrive or not. On the one hand, he was scared and alone, and at the risk of seeming childish, kind of desperately needed his dad to be there. On the other hand, he had no idea how he was going to explain this scary, confusing, and—now that he had had some spare moments to reflect on it—humiliating condition he was apparently in. He did not look forward to trying to explain it or having to discuss it; the very thought made him uncomfortable.  
  
Then came time for the procedure to start (he hated to call it by its name because even Dr. Samuels said it was an adaptation.) Kurt hated how obviously terrified he was; he could not stop trembling for several minutes. Dr. Samuels tried his best to offer what reassurance he could, but ultimately Kurt had to summon his own inner strength and cling tightly to it. He steeled himself for what was to come; he told himself he could and would get through this—whatever the hell it was—because he had to.  
  
He was positioned and covered in such a way that he did not see the needle being inserted into his abdomen, but he felt it go in. It did not hurt exactly, but he felt it puncture and go inside him, strange and alien. His muscles contracted in response to it. He felt odd and uncomfortable, but not as bad as he expected to feel. Then, it was over almost as quickly as it had began. He released a breath he had not realized he was holding.  
  
He was not out of the woods yet, of course. Dr. Samuels spoke with him once again. "Now, you'll need to take it easy for a while, alright? I would actually really like it if you stayed overnight for observation, given the nature of your case, but, of course, you don't have to; that's your choice. We should have more information based on the results in a few hours."

  


Dr. Samuels honestly had no idea what he had been expecting or why the resulting data was shocking him. He tried in earnest to come up with an explanation, first using conventional "wisdom" and scientific rationality and proper methodology, then using that and less accepted schools of thought.  
  
"If it's 'not human', then what is it?" asked a technician, genuinely curious and more than a little confused.  
  
"I don't know," Dr. Samuels replied, "Well, not from the results alone anyway, but do you want to know my theory?"  
  
"Um." The young woman now seemed wary. "Sure."  
  
"Alien," Dr. Samuels answered as matter-of-fact-ly as he could, "I think we're looking at an alien-human hybrid, and somehow, for some reason, they—the parent alien race, I assume—saw fit to implant it, along with a uterus that is also not quite human, I gather, into a young, biologically male human. Now why would they do that? I wonder. It just seems unnecessarily complicated." He stopped when he realized he was rambling mostly to himself.  
  
Still, this technician was one of his kinder associates; she simply put on a small, diplomatic smile and observed, "But that's impossible, right?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid not, or at least, I don't believe so," Dr. Samuels continued, "Besides, this whole mess is 'impossible', isn't it? Just ask poor Kurt Hummel what's 'impossible' right about now, hm?"  
  
"Good point," she said with a sigh, and silence overtook the lab once more.

  


Kurt was contemplating whether or not to try sleeping when his father, Burt, finally arrived. He had lost track of the hours since he had been admitted. He had almost lost track of the time since he last saw Dr. Samuels.  
  
As glad as he was to see his father, he also dearly wished Burt would stop bombarding him with questions and making a worried fuss over him. Still, he let Burt do so for a few minutes, and he answered questions to the best of his ability.  
  
"So, what you're sayin' is that they don't know what's going on at all basically?" Burt asked in conclusion.  
  
"Well..." Kurt wondered how to explain what Dr. Samuels had discovered, what the doctor was currently studying. "We do, but don't know some things." Kurt was not normally one to mince words, but this was difficult for him.  
  
"What's that mean?" Burt pressed him for more details.  
  
"They said a bunch of my results were weird, and then, Dr. Samuels found this, um, this thing inside me." Just putting it into words made him feel all the more freakishly violated. "And he's running tests on a sample he drew from it."  
  
Burt look lost and scared. "What kind of _'thing'_?"  
  
"I, um..." Kurt was genuinely at a loss. He did not dare call it, any of it, what it resembled.  
  
Dr. Samuels entered the room at precisely that moment. "Kurt, I—Oh! Hello, Mr. Hummel, I take it? Do you guys need a minute or—?"  
  
Kurt, who had practically greeted the doctor with an "oh thank god", shook his head with clear desperation that for once he made very little effort to hide. "No, no, go ahead, please."  
  
"And you're okay with him in the room while we discuss—?" Dr. Samuels checked  
  
"Yeah," Kurt said. He did not want his dad to know on some level, but on another he knew his dad needed to know and maybe he needed his dad to.  
  
"Okay," Dr. Samuels said, "Well, the results for the, um, adapted amnio have proved, like so much else in your case, to be very interesting."  
  
"I don't want to be interesting," Kurt muttered.  
  
"The sample we took is, in its composition, very much like actual human amniotic fluid. In fact, all signs point to the, er, entity we discovered being, well, a developing more-or-less human. There are just a few, slight irregularities, but otherwise this very much seems to bear more than a passing similarity to ordinary human pregnancy."  
  
"How?" Kurt found himself asking not for the first or the last time. "What the hell do you mean? None of this is even possible; none of this makes any sense."  
  
"Like I said before, I'm just as baffled by all this as you are. We all are actually. The official answer right now is that we just don't know," Dr. Samuels replied with clear sympathy.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Burt challenged. "Then, what's the unofficial answer?"  
  
"My theory?" Dr. Samuels responded.  
  
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Burt shot back.  
  
He could not recite his ideas as bluntly as he had to the technician earlier, but he tried for equal clarity. "This is going to sound crazy," he began.  
  
"This whole thing is already crazy," Kurt interjected, "so go on. It's fine."  
  
"Okay. I think what we're dealing with is not of human design or origin. I think that the entity, the ba- the being-" He changed his wording when he noticed Kurt flinch. "is not entirely human, but rather some sort of alien-human hybrid."  
  
"So, aliens did this?" Kurt sounded understandably skeptical.  
  
"What the hell kinda doctor are you?" Burt asked, "You haven't told us one thing that makes any damn sense outside of some crazy science fiction!"  
  
"I know, Mr. Hummel. Believe me; I know how this sounds, and I'm genuinely very sorry there's not any other explanation right now." He paused, seemingly waiting for the mild altercation to escalate before continuing. "I'd say based on all the information that this thing, this entity, has been developing for around 2 months or so. We're in a good position to act here before things proceed any further. I think in this case our actions now are more important, at least right now, than our lack of explanation of exactly what or how." He paused again.  
  
"Okay," Kurt said, "So, what are we going to do?"  
  
"We've, no, _you've_ , got two options. We can abort and remove everything, the structure and the entity, or you can keep it, the entity; we can still remove the uterine structure after everything is said and done if you wish."  
  
"So, you can get rid of it?" Kurt asked.  
  
"Yes, we can," Dr. Samuels replied, eyeing the young man intently, "but this is _your_ decision, and I would warn you that there are several risks associated with each choice."  
  
"Namely?" Burt asked.  
  
"Well, option 1: we abort, and we try to remove everything. This carries the risk of complications, like any other invasive procedure, particularly something as sensitive and, for lack of a better term, unfamiliar as this case."  
  
"Right, but that sounds a hell of a lot safer and better than the alternative," Burt responded.  
  
"Well, I don't want to say much to influence opinion here, since this is Kurt's choice, but, in my professional, strictly medical opinion, yes. That option is safer. If you, Kurt, were to keep the ch- the entity-" He corrected himself again. "You are looking at potentially a lot of complications. If this progresses anything like normal human pregnancy, we don't know exactly what that's going to do to your body. I can tell you it will be very hard on it, at the very least; it will be incredibly dangerous for you. Furthermore, we just don't know that the ba- the entity, sorry- would even survive, or, for that matter, that you would."  
  
"Okay, well, the choice here seems clear, doesn't it?" Burt said.  
  
Kurt was surprised to find it was not; every choice presented to him sounded overwhelming and scary, as this whole situation already was. "I- I think so, but I just- I need a minute, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Dr. Samuels said and left the room.  
  
"I'll be right outside if you need me, kiddo," Burt said as he, too, exited.  
  
"Either way I go there will be 'complications', and that's just doctor-y code for something going really wrong," Kurt thought, "I mean, worst case scenario, it's entirely possible that I could die no matter what I do." He felt paralyzed by that thought.  
  
Abortion was never something Kurt was fully decided about opinion-wise. Then, again it had never been relevant to him personally, and he certainly never expected it to be _this_ personally relevant. He was pro-choice, sure, but he had to admit he had never given it so much thought as he now felt he had to.  
  
He'd never joined the "when life begins" debates, and now he found himself wondering. This thing—this thing that made him shudder uncomfortably at the thought of it being inside him—was it alive? Would "getting rid of it", which he so desperately wanted to do, mean killing it? Would that mean taking an innocent life?  
  
"It might die either way; in fact, it probably will," Kurt concluded, "if it's really alive at all, that is. Hell, if it's capable of suffering, I'm probably going to spare it a lot of that by ending things now."  
  
So, he decided, he could get rid of it and end this whole horrifying situation before it got any worse. He knew all along that was what he really wanted more than anything. After all, he did not want this or ask for this, and the whole situation had left him feeling utterly violated. He could not and dared not to imagine how much worse, how much more horrifying and mortifying and uncomfortable, this would become if he did not end it all now.  
  
So, he had made his decision.


	3. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with abortion and contains brief mention of suicide. If either of those bother you, please use discretion.

So far everything had gone as relatively normally as Dr. Samuels had hoped. Kurt was doing fine, and for such a complicated case, the operation was beginning smoothly, which was a welcome relief. Dr. Samuels hoped afterward for further study to be conducted on the removed structure and terminated life form; he dared to look forward to the results and wondered if Kurt would want to say updated on the matter. 

If he knew what was going to happen next, he would have scolded himself with one of his spouse's favorite expressions, "Don't count your chickens before they've hatched." Dr. Samuels and his team had easily located the uterine structure, but once they attempted to remove it what they witnessed shocked them.

The structure began to emit a strange, unearthly glow. Regaining their composure, another attempt was made to cut into it. The glow persisted, growing even brighter and the organ had become apparently impenetrable. No matter what they attempted to do to it; there was no damaging it or removing it.

If he was not in an operating room, Dr. Samuels would probably have buried his face in his hands. "Well, this is one hell of a development," he said, his shock shifting to frustration. What were they supposed to do now? Obviously, they could not do what they had set out to do; this had been proven. Neither could they leave Kurt in his current state for a long time to figure out their next move.

"Okay," Dr. Samuels said, "Plot twist: we can't surgically remove anything, so plan b...We'll just have to close him back up and give up for now, so we can all regroup to come up with a real plan b, if one is to be had at all."

It sounded rather simple when he phrased it that way, but it was anything but. It was frustrating and disappointing to say the least. It was a great big mess in the middle of an already complicated case. He would have to find a way to break the news to Kurt, whom he had promised answers and solutions for, and to Kurt's father, who would likely be understandably furious. He would have to find the words to explain what had happened to them, to two understandably upset skeptics.

For Dr. Samuels, the answer was clear. "Now I have no doubt in my mind that this things is, at least in part, extraterrestrial in origin," he observed silently, "I don't know how or why, but I do know this is the work of something not of this world." He could not get the image of the otherworldly glow emitted from the strange organ out of his mind. To witness something so alien firsthand would have been wonderful if it had not been so horrifying.

How would he put all that into the right words for Kurt?

  


Dr. Samuels had given Kurt as much time as he could to recover before he came to deliver the upsetting (and, he was sure, confusing) news. He had already had several discussions that had mostly ended heatedly with Burt in the interim. By the time it was Kurt's turn to have the conversation, Burt was very begrudgingly accepting Dr. Samuels's account of what had happened.

He was not sure whether to be relieved or all the more anxious when he realized Burt had not yet told Kurt anything. "Hey, Kurt," Dr. Samuels said, coming into the room, "how are you feeling?"

"Really messed up," Kurt replied. He made little effort to put up any of the fronts that seemed typical of him. He probably just did not have the required energy. After a pause, he asked, "So, did everything go okay?"

"There were complications, unfortunately." Dr. Samuels did not want to be so blunt, but he was not sure how to preface this explanation, and he was not going to sugar-coat it.

"What kind of—? What happened?" Kurt asked.

Burt's expression was one of torment, both at the truth he was struggling to accept, and the fear evident in his son's tone. He did not look at Kurt, but he kept a firm grip on his hand. He seemed to stare at a random point in the wall, unable or unwilling to look at anyone else in the room.

"Okay, it's alright, Kurt, just calm down, okay? Try to stay calm, okay? You're not in any immediate risk or danger; it's nothing like that," Dr. Samuels reassured him. Once Kurt seemed less panicked, Dr. Samuels continued, "We were unable to perform the procedure."

"What? Then, what the hell is all this? Why put me on drugs and cut me open?" Kurt was already confused and upset.

"I can only tell you what we saw and experienced; I can't properly explain it, but when we were attempting to remove the uterine structure from your body, something happened," Dr. Samuels explained, "There was this indescribable, unearthly glow and whenever we tried to perform any operations on that organ, it glowed brighter and became impenetrable."

Kurt just stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he asked, "What?" He was clearly in shock and more than a little confused. "So, what are you saying?" The realization was dawning on him, crushing him under waves of terror and growing despair. "So...you're saying that you can't get rid of it? That I'm- that I'm...stuck like this?"

"I'm so, genuinely, very sorry," Dr. Samuels replied, "for now, that is our unfortunate conclusion. We can't remove the uterine structure or abort the embryo. I'm sorry I can't offer a more scientific, professional-sounding explanation; I know I promised you answers, but we will keep looking for them, okay?"

Something new had come over Kurt as the reality of the situation and its implications began truly setting in. "Okay," the boy replied with an air of defeated resignation that broke the hearts of the two older men.

  


Kurt felt like, after all the confused flailing, he was finally sinking. There was no hope. This was a nightmare that kept getting worse, and there was no escape from it. No escape other than death, and he was frightened all the more at how quickly that thought had come into his mind.

"I can't believe this," Kurt said sadly, "I mean none of this even makes any sense at all. It feels like a really weird, really bad dream that I can't wake up from."

"I understand," Dr. Samuels said, "We can discuss where we go from here later, if you want. I know you need your rest now." Kurt gave no indication of approval, but he did not protest either, so the doctor left the room.

Kurt felt so lost. This was impossible; he was trapped in an impossible hell. He had no idea what to think or what he was going to do.

A terror struck him. The thoughts he had previously avoided struck him; they were now frighteningly relevant. This was only going to get worse.

He felt utterly violated; he had no other word for it. This entity, this _bodily invader_ , that apparently could not be removed was a violation to his bodily autonomy. And he was stuck with it. He looked down at his body in horror. It was going to grow; it was going to keep using him. It was going to wreck him and probably kill him.

Something odd and akin to shame crept into his panicking mind. This would only become an increasingly more humiliating condition. How could he tell anyone? No one could take him seriously, and even if they believed him there was still a high likelihood that he would be the butt of jokes.  
He would have to tell, at least, Rachel and Santana. The very idea mortified him and paralyzed him with dread. How could he possibly tell them? "They'll find out soon enough," he thought with a mirthless laugh.

The sound startled Burt from either dozing or being intensely lost in thought. "Hm?"

"Nothing, Dad," Kurt said.

Burt considered firmly telling Kurt not to give him the "nothing, Dad" treatment when he knew how very wrong things were, but instead he gently asked, "Do you wanna talk about his thing, kiddo?"

It felt like there was no air in the room. Kurt shook his head, but spoke, "I don't know. Would you? If you were me, would you wanna talk about this with anyone ever?"

"Well, no," Burt answered honestly, "Probably not." After a pause, he added, "But not talking about it isn't gonna make it all go away either, and it's not gonna make it any easier."

"I'm just so scared and confused, and I'm—I don't know—I'm humiliated, and I just feel—I don't even know how to explain how exactly I feel," Kurt confessed. He thought once again about the word "violated", but he did not want to elaborate much further or use such adjectives in front of his father. "And I don't know—I just don't understand why this is happening to me or what is even happening."

"I know, son," Burt said, wishing he could make all this go away or at the very least that he had the right words (if there were any) to make this better, "I understand. None of this makes any damn sense, and- and it scares me, too." He paused, and it seemed clear that he had not really wanted to admit that last part aloud. "If I could take this on for you or if I could do anything to take this away from you, I would."

"I know, Dad," Kurt said. His previous efforts to fight tears had failed him miserably, and now he wiped his eyes and tried to stop more from escaping.

"But all I can do right now is tell you, 'we will get through this.' Okay? We will get through this crazy thing," Burt finished.

"I might not," Kurt silently replied. He did not have the heart to say it aloud, not when his Dad who had already been through so much in his life was trying so hard once again to keep everything together. Once he realized how, if this really did kill him eventually, this would impact his father, he felt himself sink into a whole new depth of despair.


	4. Tough Calls

Rachel had called. This was the tenth time in the past few days, which Kurt realized meant that she was showing restraint (which was uncommon for her.) Her voicemail messages were becoming increasingly concerned; the last two bordered on frantic. He sighed miserably. He would have to talk to her; he should answer her. It was not fair to her to keep ignoring her for no real reason.

Finally, after another failed attempt at contact and a very worried voicemail message, Kurt answered on call number twelve. "Hey."

"Kurt! What's going on? Why haven't you been answering your phone? Are you alright?" was Rachel's greeting.

"I'm- I'm fine, Rachel," he lied, simply because he had no idea what else to say, "Well, look, I-I'll have to—I'll explain later, okay? I'm in the hospital, and there's something wrong, but I'm- I'm not like dying or anything—" The accuracy of that part remained to be seen, but Kurt was not getting into that right now. "and I promise I'll tell you when I get home; I just don't wanna talk about it right now, okay?" He continued with a bit more honesty.

"O-okay," Rachel responded, "as long as you're okay."

"I'm, yeah, I'm close enough, I guess," Kurt said.

"And you've even got Santana worried," Rachel mentioned.

"Well, pass that information along to her then," Kurt said.

"Of course," Rachel said, "I will."

"What about you, Rachel? Is everything alright? You seem like you've got something on your mind," Kurt asked.

"Oh, I've just been worried about you, and, well, we can talk more about it when you get home," Rachel replied, "So, when are you coming home?"

"Probably tomorrow or the day after...tomorrow, I hope," Kurt answered. He figured that was an optimistic estimate, but he could not face the idea of staying longer at the moment.

The two chatted for several minutes. It would have almost felt like a slice of normal life, if not for the fact that both sides were preoccupied. Soon, Kurt grew tired; so, they agreed to talk more later.

  


Blaine had called him once again some time after he had fallen asleep. Kurt glared at his phone. Blaine had left a message, but Kurt already knew that he did not want to hear it. He could not and would not deal with Blaine and Blaine's problems on top of what was going on now.

"Kurt, I don't know why you haven't been answering your phone, but—" Blaine's tone was not as confrontational as Kurt expected, but he still deleted the message before it could finish.

He fully expected another call or message of some sort tomorrow, if not later that day. It had been that way ever since he had made the mistake of sleeping with his ex nearly a month ago. Blaine's particular brand of crazy was difficult enough to deal with under normal circumstances, so under these circumstances Kurt refused to put up with any of it.

Maybe months of being ignored would be enough to finally make Blaine give up. "I guess that's it then," Kurt reflected, "I probably just cut Blaine from my life." He hated how mixed his feelings were at that thought, but he knew in time they would probably no longer be.

  


He was depressed and not feeling well, and there was not much to do, so he considered going back to sleep. His father had gone for another walk, presumably to talk to Carole and give Kurt some space. On that matter, Kurt was actually conflicted; on the one hand, he _did_ want to be alone, but on the other, his father was sort of a comforting presence in all this madness.

He was almost asleep again when Adam called. _Adam._ He felt his heart sink at the sight of the name. He could not answer the call. What would he even say? He couldn't act like everything was normal and alright, but he had no idea how he could tell Adam, if he even wanted to, or if he even should.

The thought of even trying to tell the other man was mortifying. His condition was literally unbelievable, and it was unfortunately laughable. He dreaded explaining it to anyone, and so, had decided to explain it only to those he had to.

And he didn't have to explain it to Adam. It wasn't as it they'd been involved in a serious relationship for that long. Nevermind that it had been going so well, that Adam made Kurt feel happy and wanted in a way he hadn't felt for some time.

He couldn't put Adam through whatever this was though. It would not be fair. Adam deserved better. Adam was a nice, incredibly sane, perfectly and respectably normal, young man, and he deserved better than whatever this bizarre, horrific, anomalous mess was. Kurt had to end things now for Adam's sake. He had to keep away from Adam before things progressed any further, before they got any closer and Adam felt any more obligation and before whatever was going on with Kurt now got any more bizarre and out of control.

Besides, why should Adam stay with him? He couldn't reasonably expect Adam to anyway. This whole situation was unbelievably weird—hell, "weird" was an understatement—and they couldn't just pretend it wasn't. And it wasn't weird in the "quirky" or charming way, it was bad and awkward and embarrassing and nightmarish. This was probably going to destroy his body, and he didn't expect Adam or anyone to pretend that he was still attractive in the process. Adam would want to leave, and he should not have to feel bad about it.

Somehow Kurt found himself even more depressed now. He really liked Adam, and this _thing_ —whatever it was—had ruined yet another important part of his life. It hurt so much, and he felt so alone. Alone in this scary, life-ruining—possibly life-ending—impossible situation. He was glad his father was still out of the room because he could feel himself breaking down.

  


The day of Kurt's release from the hospital was a gloomy, overcast one. It seemed appropriate somehow for what Kurt had deemed to be the beginning of the end of his life. It was almost like the weather was trying to dramatically reflect his mood, which would have amused him more if he didn't feel so numb.

He had debated with his father about going back home with him. Burt had been rather insistent on the matter. In a way, Kurt understood and almost agreed; he would miss his family terribly, and he predicted in this situation he would come to miss them even more terribly than ever.

He could not do this in Lima, Ohio though. He knew too many people, and there were too many of them he did not want to face in this condition. He did not think he could handle the potential aggravation, nor the likely humiliation. In the end, Burt begrudgingly got Kurt's point, and he surrendered, although it was clear that he did not want to leave Kurt, especially not like this. If Kurt was honest, he really did not want him to go either. Both men would fight tears later when they at last had to part.

Then, he spoke with Dr. Samuels at length about how to proceed from here, and some things to expect (well, to _possibly expect_ , if this would go in any predictable fashion at all) and some things to do and not to do. It was overwhelming, and Kurt did not expect it, or any of this, to ever stop being overwhelming.

"You'll need to get regular check ups, and I'd like for you to come here and see me," Dr. Samuels said, "So, I know I'm unloading a lot of stuff on you right now, but try not to worry too much about all of it at the moment, okay?"

"O-okay," Kurt said, but truthfully his head was spinning and likely would not stop for a while.

"So, I'd like to go ahead and set up an appointment for you to come back in a few weeks," Dr. Samuels continued. He paused and when Kurt made no reply, he added, "Sound good?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Kurt agreed, halfheartedly.

Once they set up the appointment, Dr. Samuels said, "And be sure to call me if anything comes up, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt answered, feeling a surge of fear course through him triggered by the question. He swallowed nervously and tried to focus on breathing.

Dr. Samuels finished jotting something down on his small notepad; he ripped out the page and handed it to Kurt. "Here," he said, "I'm giving you my personal number so you can always reach me. Feel free to call anytime. I mean it."

Kurt nodded. "Okay." He folded and pocketed the small slip of paper. "Thanks."

"It's no problem at all," Dr. Samuels said.

"So...am I free to go now?" Kurt asked.

"You are free to go. I release you," Dr. Samuels replied, "I'll see you in two weeks."


	5. The Loft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals briefly with suicide ideation/contemplating suicide. Please read with discretion if this upsets or triggers you.

Kurt thought he would feel more relieved to be back home in the loft, but more than anything he felt oddly shell-shocked. He barely spoke to Rachel and Santana, and after a few minutes, they obviously had concluded that it was best to leave him alone. Sometimes he could hear them whispering, and it seemed rather clear it was about him. He let them whisper.

It was really starting to sink in now, the horrible realization that his life was over. He would have to quit his job, quit school, quit everything. Everything that he had worked so hard for. Quit Adam.

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and took deep breaths. It just wasn't fair. "Well, life's not fair," he thought, mentally scolding himself, "Even if this _is_ a whole new level of cruel and unusual."

So, he would quit his job that he loved, and take a leave from the school that he had worked so hard to get into, and then, probably never get to return. And he could cut off all contact with the sweet, British man who made him smile when no one else could.

And then, he would become a grotesque, shut-in freak. And then, well, then he might not even survive. Then, he might just die. In fact, he probably would.

This _thing_ , this whatever it was and however it had gotten where it was inside him, would probably die, too. Somehow that just made him angrier. It wasn't necessarily that he wanted it to live, but the idea of it killing him and then just dying...Then, what was the _fucking point_ of any of this? He was trembling violently now with all of the pent-up emotions raging inside of him.

He was probably going to die a horrible, humiliating, and bizarre death of some sort for no real, sense-making reason at the age of nineteen before he even had a chance to do anything significant with his life. He could not accept it or deal with it, but neither could he change it.

Well, there _was_ one thing he could do. He shivered at the thought. He could end his life now and get it over with.

No. He couldn't. He absolutely _could not_ kill himself. No, this—whatever was wrong with him—would have to do it, even if it ended up doing it at the price of his sanity and dignity, which it likely would.

He couldn't because there was just that chance that he might survive, and even though he wasn't sure he had anything to look forward to if and when he did, something about that chance made him cling tightly to his life. He never realized how afraid he was to die until his own mortality not only faced him, but seemed to be approaching him.

And he also couldn't do it because of the people in his life that his death would negatively impact. He feared his death twice as much when he thought of how it would likely destroy his father. God, no matter what hell he had to go through, he _had_ to live for his family and friends, _for his dad._

The numb shell that had both smothered and protected him was shattering. There were too many emotions in him demanding to be felt and to be expressed. Not daring to pierce and break the silence that had formed, he tried his best to break down quietly.

He could practically _feel_ their eyes boring holes through him. Their concern was palpable, especially Rachel's. He could picture her perfectly without ever turning his attention to her; her big, brown eyes were wide and glistening with emotion that bordered on melodrama. Santana just seemed weird, scary weird; Santana had been walking on eggshells and whispering anxiously, and those were _not_ Santana behaviors, so clearly, she was having some sort of reaction to all of this, too.

Still, at least another hour seemed to have elapsed before he talked to either of them. He had given himself time to calm down again before he even considered telling them anything. Even now, dread consumed him. He felt like he was on fire and like he might throw up. He did not want to do this. He could not do this. He had to do this.

He made them all coffee; he had wanted tea, but it reminded him too much of Adam at the moment, and he really could not handle that. Several times he tried to start dialogue with them, but he couldn't manage it.

Finally, Santana tried to save him. "So, what's up?"

That question was far too broad. Kurt laughed bitterly. "'What's up'? I don't even know where to begin with 'what's up.'"

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Well, you can start by telling us what the hell you were in the hospital for?" Her words were all Santana, but her tone was alarmingly gentle.

Kurt's face had to be red; he could feel it burning. He shook his head. "That's sorta the hard part." He paused and tried to think of what he should say and how he should say it. "Okay, here's the thing, you guys have to swear two things to me right now." His tone was deadly serious.

Santana eyed him skeptically. "Ookay?"

"What is it, Kurt?" Rachel asked.

"You have to believe me, even though I'm gonna sound totally crazy, and I'm having trouble believing any of it myself," Kurt continued.

"Okay," Rachel agreed, "Kurt, why wouldn't we—?"

"Yeah, alright," Santana said, cutting Rachel off.

Kurt left Rachel's question unanswered. "Okay, and two, you have to promise me you won't make any jokes, and you won't laugh. I mean it. What I'm about to tell you will sound like a bad joke, but I'm going to have to live it, and trust me, it's not funny."

"Kurt, I don't under—"

This time Kurt cut Rachel off. "Just promise me, okay?" The question came out more forcefully than he had intended.

"O-okay," Rachel replied, "I-I promise."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, me, too."

"I'm serious, Santana," Kurt said.

"I know you are, Kurt," Santana retorted, "I promise I won't laugh at you or whatever. For real." Her tone was a little more typical Santana this time, but she had very noticeably called him by his name and not some, usually insulting, nickname. Kurt was not entirely certain what to make of that.

"Okay." He sighed. "Okay, here goes..." How the _hell_ was he going to explain this? "I-I don't even begin to understand how it's possible or really happening, and the doctors don't either; in fact, they don't all agree on what's happening at all... but I'm—I have this condition, and there's this- this _thing_ , and it's like—it resembles—"

"Out with it, Hummel," Santana finally interjected.

"Pregnancy," Kurt finished, the dreaded word making his stomach turn anxiously.

"Wait, what?" Santana responded. Rachel responded in kind.

"There's a living thing inside me, and they tried to get rid of it, but for some reason they can't," Kurt replied.

"Kurt, seriously—" Santana began.

"I already told you I'm being serious," Kurt snapped.

"So, you're _pregnant?_ " Santana asked. She was not laughing outright, but there was mockery lurking in her words and expression.

"Don't," Kurt replied with a glare.

"Kurt, please, this isn't funny, okay?" Rachel said sadly. She seemed personally offended for some reason.

"And _I'm not laughing_ ," Kurt retorted hotly, "I wish this were a joke. Believe me. It fucking _feels_ like one, played by the universe at my expense." He could feel tears stinging in his eyes again. He fought them. "I mean, don't I get called things like 'lady' enough already?" Santana shifted uncomfortably at that, perhaps feeling guilty as she herself often called Kurt "Lady." "And just when it seems like I can actually get my life together and maybe my hopes and dreams are actually attainable, then of course, something utterly impossible happens to prevent any of that." Kurt was ranting, and he really did not intend to do so. He did not want to unload so much on his friends or expose himself so much to them either. So, it was much to his surprise and horror, and theirs as well, when he blurted out, "And, I'm probably gonna die."

"What?" Rachel asked anxiously.

Kurt sighed. "I'm- I'm probably going to die from this—whatever this is. Whatever it is, it isn't meant to be there, and over the course of its development both it and I are at risk." He stared at the floor, and let out a bitter chuckle. "What a way to go, right?"

"Kurt, this doesn't make any sense," Rachel protested.

"No, it doesn't, but it's happening anyway," Kurt said, "And if you don't believe me, well, then I guess you'll have to soon enough." Just the thought of what sort of physical deformity and torment likely awaited him "soon enough" sent another wave of sickening anxiety through him.

"And you actually believe all this?" Santana questioned skeptically.

"I actually do, yeah." Kurt briefly wondered if he should seek other opinions, but something instinctual was telling him to trust Dr. Samuels. After all, Dr. Samuels cared about him and both sought and provided answers when seemingly no one else would. "Look, I don't even begin to understand it, but it's the only answer I've been given, and I know something's been not right with me lately."

"But it's completely insane," Santana said, "You do know how crazy you sound, right?"

"Yeah, I know exactly how crazy I sound, but really thank you for pointing it out once again," Kurt retorted.

"So, um," Rachel began, interrupted their argument.

"What, Rachel?" Kurt asked, a bit too defensively.

"Have you told Adam anything yet?" she finished.

Not for the first time, Kurt found himself marveling at how utterly accurate the word "heartache" was. "No," Kurt said. After a pause, he added, "And I'm not going to."

"Well, if what you're saying really is true, you know he's gonna find out," Santana snarked.

"No, he won't," Kurt argued, "because he's not gonna be in the picture anymore."

"Why?" Santana asked.

"Why do you care?" Kurt shot back.

"Because I'm calling bull, Kurt. C'mon! Why the hell would you cut Adam out of your life? Especially now? What good is that gonna do either of you?" Santana argued.

"Because it's for the best," Kurt replied, "for him. He didn't sign on for something like this, and- and I don't want him to feel any obligation to me when things inevitably get, um...messy."

"Santana's right, Kurt. Adam deserves to know what's going on with you, and you deserve someone like Adam to help you through this," Rachel said.

Kurt could not handle this discussion. "I don't want him to feel like he has to stay with me. I mean, we're not that serious anyway."

"Bull, again, or as Adam might say 'bollocks'," Santana said, "You just don't want him to see you get all big and gross. Ow!" Rachel smacked her in the arm.

"I don't want him to feel like has to stay with me when he's no longer attracted to me, yeah," Kurt said, "that's part of it."

"Kurt, don't you think Adam should be the one to make those calls?" Rachel asked.

"Enough," Kurt said finally.

"We're just trying to help you, Kurt. Surely, you don't want to go through this alone, do you?" Rachel continued.

"Enough," Kurt repeated with both more force and more tears that he could not fight, "Look, I don't wanna talk about this anymore, alright? But now you guys know at least."

"Okay," Santana said, and it seemed she was back to oddly-gentle Santana mode, "C'mon, Rach, let's leave him alone." Addressing Kurt once again, she checked, "If that's what you want?"

"Yeah," Kurt answered, "Thanks."


	6. Tea

Kurt really wanted to just stop thinking for a while, but his mind kept coming up with more reasons his life as he knew it was over. In addition, it kept reminding him of his earlier discussion with Rachel and Santana. Particularly, Rachel's words, "Surely, you don't want to do this alone," tore him apart inside.  
  
He could think of no way to comfort or even distract himself from all of this. How could he? It was already threatening his whole life from within him.  
  
Thinking about "it" made him feel sick and uncomfortable in a way he was not sure he could accurately describe. There was something invading his body, and he was powerless to stop it. And he kept thinking about how it was going to effect his body. He stared at his stomach in horror, unable to avoid trying to imagine how much worse this was going to get.  
  
Then, there was the inevitable outcome of all this, assuming that he and "it" managed to survive. "It" would not be such an intangible nightmare anymore. He would have a child, or something probably resembling one. He would keep it, wouldn't he? He would probably have to. The thought terrified him further. He didn't want a child, especially not _this_ child (if it could even be called that.)  
  
Maybe some tea would calm his nerves enough, so he could get some rest. He sighed and tried not to think of Adam. Instead, he was reminded of Rachel's well-intended, but gutting words.  
  
"Kurt?" Rachel's voice issued sheepishly behind him as he began preparing the water for the tea.  
  
"Yeah?" His voice was more hoarse than either of them expected. He cleared his throat and busied himself getting the herbal tea he was looking for. He paused, his eyes lingering too long on a box of Earl Grey that practically stabbed him through the heart.  
  
"Are you, um—?" Rachel began.  
  
"No, I'm not really," Kurt replied, cutting her off, "Um, okay, I mean."  
  
"Do you wanna talk about it?" Rachel asked.  
  
"I'm not sure honestly," Kurt said. He stared at the water as though he could somehow sink into it and disappear...or at least will it to boil faster. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."  
  
"Oh," Rachel said.  
  
"Do you want some tea?" Kurt asked her.  
  
"I—yes, tea sounds pretty good actually," Rachel replied, "Are we out of green tea?"  
  
"No, it's right here." Kurt retrieved the box quickly. He did not dare catch sight of Adam's favorite again. After a long pause, he confessed, "I'm really scared, Rachel."  
  
She looked him in the eye with both intent and concern. She seemed expectant, so he continued, "I mean, I'm- I'm really terrified."  
  
When he paused again, she responded, "I know you are, Kurt." She seemed to want to say more, but surprisingly she held her tongue.  
  
"And-and it's not just because I might die, although there is that, of course," Kurt continued, "It's what's going to happen to me during the course of all this." Subconsciously, he looked down at his torso once again. "And, if I do survive, and-and 'it' survives then what? Then, I have a kid? I'm not ready to be a parent, Rachel, especially not like this."  
  
"Oh, Kurt," she responded, approaching him more closely. She swiftly but gently closed the gap between them, standing nearly tip-toed to wrap her arms around his shoulders.  
  
He returned her hug gratefully. He was surprised at how comforting such a small gesture was. He was almost reluctant to break the embrace so he could finish making their tea. He was about to thank her when she spoke again.  
  
Something seemed to be dawning on Rachel. "We've got options," she said in a stronger, more confident voice.  
  
"Huh?" Kurt was confused by this outburst.  
  
"It doesn't have to be this way. We've got options," she continued.  
  
This explained nothing. "Um, 'we'?" Kurt asked, "What exactly are we talking about here? Who's 'we'?"  
  
"Oh, um," Rachel stammered. She paused. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. I, um, I might be pregnant."  
  
"Don't even— wait, you're serious," Kurt responded. Rachel nodded. " _What_?"  
  
"I'm late," she replied, "I think it's still too soon for a test, but..."  
  
"Wait," Kurt said, something occurring to him, "Would it be Brody's?" He suspected he already knew the answer.  
  
"Kurt, you can't tell anyone, but—"  
  
"Oh my God," Kurt exclaimed.  
  
"It's Finn," Rachel continued.  
  
They had both recently made the mistake of hooking up with their respective exes. The consequences for Kurt were Blaine being more annoying than ever before, but the consequences for Rachel now seemed more serious.  
  
He took one of her small hands in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Does Finn know?" When she shook her head "no", he asked, "Are you gonna tell him?"  
  
"I- I don't know." Tears welled in her big, brown eyes. "I mean, if I am, I-I know I probably should, but I don't even know how I'm gonna tell Brody yet."  
  
And again, he remembered her words from before, but they now took on a new meaning. _Rachel_ was scared. _Rachel_ didn't want to do this alone, and here she faced that very possibility depending on several factors and decisions.  
  
"So, these 'options'?" He tried to keep them both off the subject of relationships for the moment.  
  
"You don't have to keep it. There's always adoption," she answered, clearly weighing her own options at the same time.  
  
"That might work for you, assuming you even are pregnant." He found the word even made him uncomfortable when describing Rachel now. "But what am I supposed to do? Try to explain that I'm carrying some kind of mutant baby thing, and I need to adopt it out? I'm sure that will go well. I'll just try to explain to them that I'm the frickin' birth mother to this thing that is probably not a normal baby and see how well that works out." He was ranting at Rachel when she was only trying to help (even if she seemed just as concerned with helping herself) and was already emotionally vulnerable. He sighed. "Damn it. I'm sorry, Rachel. I know you were just trying to help, but I just don't know if there's anything any of us can do at this point. Hence, I'm freaking out."  
  
"I understand," Rachel said. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. He handed her the cup of green tea. "Thanks," she said and began blowing on the steaming liquid.  
  
Suddenly overcome with the very emotions he was trying to avoid, Kurt set his cup down abruptly. He had thought he was all of of tears, but apparently he had been mistaken. He turned away from Rachel.  
  
"Kurt?" she asked.  
  
Talking actually seemed to help, if only a little, so he dared to confess something else, "You were right earlier."  
  
"About what?" she asked.  
  
"I don't wanna do this alone, Rachel, I'm so scared, and- and it hurts so bad." He felt her place a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to urge him to face her once again.  
  
"I know, Kurt," she said. Her hand on his shoulder began a petting motion that he supposed was as much for her comfort as it was for his. "I know. I don't either, and I'm scared, too." There was a pause; both of them were so fragile and uncertain. "But-but we'll get through this somehow, okay? We've-we've got each other." Rachel was clearly making a feeble, yet earnest effort to reassure both herself and Kurt.  
  
It only helped Kurt very slightly, but that was better than nothing and he recognized how important this was for Rachel, so he agreed. "Yeah, yeah, we do. Thanks, Rachel."


	7. Bloody Torchwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The first Torchwood chapter! I'm sorry that it took so long to get to their side of things in this story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with the topic of abortion, contains references to miscarriage, and has a really brief non-con reference. If that triggers you, please use your own discretion.

Tish Jones spent a lot of time in this bloody Torchwood hub lately. Perhaps under different circumstances going to work with her sister Martha would be cooler, but then, she recognized that under different circumstances she would probably not be allowed, what with Torchwood being such a secretive operative.  
  
Presently, she was being subjected to yet another battery of tests and scans. Martha and their friend (and fellow Torchwood employee) Mickey Smith presided over her. The team's leader Captain Jack Harkness would check in periodically. The latest test let them know that, at least for the moment, Tish was still in surprisingly good condition.  
  
That was not to say Tish was in good condition overall, of course. She had been pregnant for a little over four months now with something that they all suspected from the start was not human. She could remember several blurry occasions of being abducted by some sort of aliens, if only just barely, and she knew this was not the first time she'd been impregnated. This was just the first time the baby whatever-it-was had survived this long.  
  
She wondered how long this one would survive. Every so often, she would become incredibly sick and weak, and Martha theorized that her body was probably trying to reject the creature growing inside her. Still, it lived, and she lived. Somehow, she'd recover, and the cycle would eventually start anew. Right now, though, she was in one of the recovered stages and very much wanted to stay that way.  
  
Upon Martha's request, Mickey began to mess about with one of the machines in the room. It was some kind of basic bioscanner, and Tish never thought she'd become so casual about a machine of its name or description. She'd been hooked up to it repeatedly over the past few months. Before, the scans failed or presented inconclusive readings, but lately the scans had been reading "alien" more often than not.  
  
Today was one of those times. Tish Jones was no alien though, so there was all the more evidence that the baby inside her was alien enough for the both of them.  
  
"How are we today then?" Jack asked as he entered the room once more, "Still alien?"  
  
"Yep, apparently," Tish replied.  
  
"According to this thing anyway," Mickey added. He said it as if the machine were a misbehaving child and that made Tish smile a bit. He removed the nodes of the scanner from Tish and went to work shutting it down and putting it back where it belonged.  
  
"Well, by our best estimation, you're about eighteen weeks along," Martha began.  
  
"Wow, only eighteen?" Tish asked rhetorically, looking down at her slightly enlarged stomach. "Feels so much longer somehow," she added more seriously.  
  
"That means we should be able to get a better look at the baby now," Martha continued, "So, what I think we ought to do is do an ultrasound and see if we can get a better look."  
  
"Okay," Tish responded.  
  
"That machine over there, Mickey, if you could please, help me get that hooked up then," Martha requested.  
  
"Yes, mum," he replied.

  


Everything was all set up and ready very quickly, and soon they began. Martha applied gel to Tish's belly and Tish flinched slightly at its cool temperature. Jack returned yet again, this time with the other members of the team, Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones. "Tish, do you mind if we join you?"  
  
Tish assumed the question was just a courtesy of some sort, since Jack seemed to have a certain fondness towards her; after all, she reckoned Torchwood did what it wanted, whatever it had to do. Even if this current case did involve her personally, it didn't mean her wishes were top priority or anything, she assumed.  
  
"Yeah," Tish replied, "of course."  
  
The display was a bit hard to interpret, even a little bit for Martha it seemed. "Right," Martha said, tone still confident, "Okay, I think this must be it. See, the head there." She began to gesture toward specific points. "And the spine. Look there! The legs! It's moving them now." Martha could not help but get excited as she deciphered the images they were seeing.  
  
"Oh, believe me, I know," Tish responded, which got some laughs from everyone. They were all so captivated, seeing this thing that had somehow become just another part of her everyday existence now.  
  
"The limbs look really long actually," Martha added, "The whole body looks rather big really. The head is a bit off compared to a normal human at this stage as well. The ears appear underdeveloped by those standards as well, and the face looks a bit different from what I can tell."  
  
"So, it's alien?" Jack asked. Tish assumed this was a formality; he seemed certain already that it was.  
  
Well, it looks like it's not all the way human, yeah," Martha replied.  
  
"Probably a hybrid of some sort," Jack elaborated, "I'm thinking human plus whatever did this."  
  
Tish just stared at the impossible creature wiggling on the display. She was not certain how she felt about it, about any of this anymore. Finally, she interjected, "But why?"  
  
Everyone seemed to snap to attention as though they had somehow forgotten her. "Why do this? Why make an alien-human hybrid? And why me? Why place it in me?" At least, she assumed and hoped it was "placed" and not created by even more physically invasive means. The thought made her far too uncomfortable to contemplate, so she cursed how blurry and incomplete her memories were and forced the thought to the back of her mind where it was kept on lock-down.  
  
Jack looked at her with more sympathy than he'd probably meant to show. He promptly returned his gaze to the ultrasound display. "We don't know that yet. That's what we hope to find out."  
  
Everyone was silent for a moment. Then, Tish asked, "So, can you tell what it is then?"  
  
"We've no idea, Tish," Martha replied, "I mean, not really—"  
  
"No, I mean, is it a boy or a girl, or I dunno a species with a third option?" Tish clarified.  
  
"It's got a hand there," Mickey said, pointing and laughing, "It's a modest alien baby."  
  
"Hm." Martha studied the tiny life form. It wiggled once again, allowing Martha a better look at its developing genitalia. "Looks a bit...ambiguous...it's hard to tell...it might be a boy, but...I can't be sure. Sorry, Tish."  
  
"It's okay," Tish said, "doesn't really matter. I was just curious, I guess."  
  
Mickey started laughing again. "He's doing it again! Lookit!"  
  
"I think you're getting way too much enjoyment out of this, Mickey," Gwen said, clearly amused by her co-worker.

  


After they were finished, everyone except Martha and Jack resumed other tasks. The two asked Tish if she would stay in the medical bay for a while, and she agreed that she would as long as they would allow her to take a nap at some point, if they kept her too much longer. Then, they left her there alone.  
  
Martha accompanied Jack to his office where they could meet in private. "So, it's alien, then," Martha began once they were behind closed doors.  
  
"Yeah," Jack said, "I'm just trying to think of the best course of action from here."  
  
"Yeah, me, too," Martha said, "I already talked to Tish back when this all started about her options..."  
  
Jack knew what she was talking about. He looked at Martha very seriously. "What do you think is best?"  
  
"Honestly, Jack? I don't know. I know I want Tish to have input, and as far as the baby and her body goes, I want her to have final say." Martha was sure that notion would be contested, but she was prepared to stand firm.  
  
If Jack disagreed in any way, he made no indication. "Yes, but what do _you_ think?"  
  
"I think we have no idea what is going to happen to Tish or the baby. I mean, it might not even survive to term, even if it has already surpassed our expectations. Just because it's lived this long is no guarantee though. And Tish...well..." This part was harder for Martha. "We don't know what effects this will have on her. I mean, her life doesn't seem to be in danger right now, but that could all change very quickly."  
  
"So, what are you suggesting?" Jack asked.  
  
"I'm not suggesting anything. What are _you_ suggesting then?" Martha retorted with slight irritation.  
  
"Should we terminate the pregnancy?" Jack asked.  
  
"I don't know," Martha said, "and that's for Tish to decide anyway. I'd like to go talk to her about all this if that's alright."  
  
"Of course," said Jack, and he dismissed her.

  


"Tish?" Martha said as she entered the medical bay once more.  
  
"Hm?" Tish had been lost in thought. She looked at Martha expectantly. "So," she said, "what were you and Jack talking about then? Am I allowed to know?"  
  
"Tish, you're a part of this now; you're allowed to know everything we know," Martha replied. After a pause, she added, "And, yes, it did concern you. That's actually what I wanted to talk with you about."  
  
"Oh?" Tish asked.  
  
"So, as you know, it's alien," Martha began, "or some sort of very alien hybrid...And you're about eighteen weeks along by our best estimate. We're trying to decide how its best to proceed, but we need your input."  
  
"You want to know whether I want to let it live, or, well, maybe live, or...kill it?" Tish asked.  
  
Martha flinched slightly at her sister's choice of words. She continued, "It's up to you, Tish, but we do need to weigh the options. I mean, it's possible the creature won't survive to term anyway or even after it's born. We can't know that, and we can't know what this will do to you either. I don't mean to frighten you, but your health could be seriously affected. Your life could even be at risk."  
  
Tish met her sister's dark brown eyes, knowing how hard this was for her. If not for all of her medical training and experience, Martha would have a much more difficult time giving news like this; even so, Tish could tell dealing with such grim matters with a family member was taking its toll on Martha. She was thankful that Martha was such a strong person; otherwise, they both might have broken down over this.  
  
Tish was pretty strong herself, of course. With a look a bravery that only came from resignation, she responded, "I understand." They both paused. "God, I wish I knew what the right answer was," Tish confessed.  
  
"Me, too, sis," Martha responded.  
  
"Give me a minute to think about this, okay?" Tish said.  
  
"Take as much time as you need," Martha said, "If you need me, I'll be around."  
  
Tish nodded and watched her sister leave the room once again. This was the hardest decision she had ever had to make. Alien or not, this thing was alive and maybe, just maybe, the two of them would survive. Not that she necessarily wanted to have a child, alien or not, but she just wanted everyone to live. She wanted some sort of good to come out of all this, all the torture she'd been put through. Just for a moment, she dared to hope something good could come of it all.  
  
However, she knew the odds of that weren't good. The last baby had miscarried, and this one was certainly not out of the woods. Neither was she. Only about three weeks prior, she became so ill she was certain both she and the baby were doomed.  
  
If this thing suffered when and how she suffered, maybe this... _procedure_ would be a mercy killing. Not to mention, they had no way of knowing if it would ever be viable. If it didn't die now (naturally and horribly or by abortion and hopefully swiftly), who was to say it would not die (and likely suffer greatly in the process) later on?  
  
And what were its alien "parents" planning for it? What if their plans were horrible—evil even? They had no way of knowing whether or not those aliens would harm the baby hybrid.  
  
Tish found herself repeating, "God, I wish I knew what the right answer was." She sighed and wiped her eyes. Although still unsure if it was the "right answer", she had made her decision.


	8. A Difficult Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with abortion. If that triggers you, please use discretion.

Tish was fully and properly anesthetized, and all of her vitals were as they should be. Her condition was stable. Martha went through the mental checklist in her head as she checked over her sister. Everything seemed in order, and Tish seemed fine. They were ready to begin.  
  
She found herself feeling more anxious than she would have liked. This was not a procedure that she was very familiar with at all, not even considering all the ways this case was unusual. Then, there was a nagging thought that had cost her some much needed sleep in the previous night.  
  
What would The Doctor do? Would he do this? Would this ever be his choice? She was incredibly worried and increasingly certain that the answer was no and never. The Doctor would _never_ have chosen this.  
  
But Tish did. And Torchwood did. And Martha knew from a medical standpoint that this was the best decision.  
  
Besides, what other choice did they have? Risk Tish's life? Risk the unborn alien hybrid's life? They weren't The Doctor; they did not know or have any other way. The Doctor would have found another way, but they were simply not afforded that opportunity. These were their options, and this was seemingly their best option.  
  
She wished there was someone else on the team qualified to do this, but she figured she'd be nervous either way. Operating on her own sister with very little help was something she could never have prepared herself for. Still, she steeled herself; right now, she was not just a sister, she was a doctor and her sister, her patient, needed her to be strong, cool, and collected.  
  
Everything was going remarkably and surprisingly easily until she tried to make an incision into Tish's uterus. What she was seeing shocked her, even despite all the otherworldly things she had seen before when travelling with The Doctor, working for Unit, or working with Torchwood. It was glowing, and when she tried to cut into it she found that she could not.  
  
Mickey, who was acting as her assistant practically jumped back. "What the hell?" Apparently, this was enough to rattle him, too. "What is that?"  
  
"I-I don't know," Martha replied, "I've never seen anything like this. Never heard of anything like this." She could not believe what she was witnessing.  
  
"Reckon it's got something to do with that alien then?" Mickey asked. "Like—like a defense mechanism or something?”  
  
"I dunno. It must be." This was certainly a major development in the case. Martha just hated its implications for Tish. "This certainly changes things."  
  
Martha went to work closing Tish back up. She sighed in frustrated resignation. She just wanted this to be over for Tish. She was so tired of her family being put through one hell after another; she took the job at Unit to help, and she had taken this new position at Torchwood to help, but at the moment she felt utterly incapable of any effective help at all.  
  
Mickey continued to monitor Tish's vitals on the machine. "Reckon Jack knows anything about this?"  
  
"We'll have to meet with the rest of the team. I'm hoping someone knows something," Martha said. Although, what she was really hoping more than anything else was to hear the familiar, exhilarating whirring sound of the TARDIS, signalling The Doctor's arrival in his time and space ship. This case was beyond them, it seemed; his arrival would mean real, effective aid. Until then, however, they would have to manage; Martha tried not to think about the possibility that The Doctor was not going to come help them.  
  
"Mickey, go tell Jack what's happened. I need to look after Tish for right now," She added after a pause.

 

Mickey returned with Jack and the rest of the team very shortly after. "Okay, so, looks like there's been a major change in our game plan," Jack said as he strode purposefully into the medical bay. "So, what are our options?" He asked it as though he already had the answers. No one was certain how much of that was a bluff.  
  
"Well, as far as I can tell right now, removing the alien entity from Tish is not possible," Martha stated, "As I'm sure you all know by now."  
  
"So, she'll have to keep it then?" Gwen responded. Gwen had never been totally on board with the plan to abort the alien life, but she still seemed very concerned for Tish.  
  
"Well, that's a bit obvious," Ianto said.  
  
"For how long?" Gwen continued, ignoring her snarky co-worker, "I mean, what happens when she gives birth to an alien? What do we do then? And what if this is happening to others? What do we do then?"  
  
They were all reminded at that moment that this situation might just be out of their control. How could they contain it if there were others?  
  
"I reckon the aliens probably have a plan for when Tish gives birth," Mickey answered her first question.  
  
"Right, but we don't," Gwen retorted, "So, what are we going to do?"  
  
"We're going to stop them," Jack said, "And from there we'll just have to figure out what to do with their offspring. This threat is clearly not one we can contain or cover up, so that's not a priority. What we need to do is keep investigating, find out everything we can, if this is happening to others, what species is responsible for this, and what they're planning, any and all pertinent information, so we can stop it."  
  
For now, that was the only conclusion that the group could reach.

 

Martha had given Tish some time to come around, but wished she could give her more. She sighed and tried to put on a brave face. There was no way to make this news easy to give or for Tish to receive, but they would just have to be strong.  
  
"So, what happened?" Tish asked before Martha could even begin.  
  
"We couldn't do it, Tish. We weren't able to remove it," Martha explained, "We think it's some sort of in-utero defense mechanism."  
  
"So, I'm stuck with it?" Tish asked. Martha was disturbed at how little distress her sister was showing. More than anything, Tish just seemed resigned and tired.  
  
"Tish, I'm so sorry," Martha replied earnestly, "I wish there was more I could do or that I could say."  
  
"It's fine, Martha," Tish replied, "Really." Her eyes were cast down and never looked up at Martha. "There's nothing any of us can do except go along with this stuff and see what happens; I've accepted that."  
  
Martha admired her sister's tremendous strength, but it broke her heart to see her like this all the same, to see her just accepting her fate even though it could very well spell her destruction. Tish was not giving up, but neither was she fighting. Martha was glad that Tish wasn't losing her mind, but she still wished she saw more concern, even fear—any sort of spark at all— in her sister's dark eyes.  
  
"We're gonna do whatever we can to help you, Tish," Martha said adamantly, "And we're gonna do whatever it takes to stop this."  
  
Tish smiled a small, halfhearted smile of encouragement. "Damn right you are, sis." It quickly faded, however. "Martha, if it's alright though, I think I really just need to be alone for a bit."  
  
"Of course," Martha said, "If you need anything, I'll be around." With some hesitance, she exited the medical bay.  
  
"So, how is she?" Jack asked Martha quietly as soon as she had left the room.  
  
"She seems, I dunno, she seems to be doing well," Martha answered, "She didn't take the news as poorly as one would expect."  
  
"Oh," Jack said, "Well, that's good, isn't it?"  
  
"Maybe," Martha said, "Maybe not."  
  
"Have you spoken with The Doctor?" Jack asked.  
  
"Jack, he's not answering any of my calls," Martha responded, a bit more desperately than she would have liked, "I keep calling him, but I don't know what else to do."  
  
"Just keep trying," Jack said, placing a reassuring, firm hand on her shoulder, "He'll come around. He's probably just busy." Jack shook his head and tried not to think of all the times he had needed The Doctor or could have used the other man's help, only to be left unanswered. He hoped desperately that his was not another one of those times. "And if he doesn't, well, then, we'll manage, okay? We'll find a way to deal with this on our own, just like we have many times before." Neither of them felt like addressing how much higher and more personal the stakes seemed in this case, nor how potentially bleak their prospects seemed without The Doctor's help.  
  
"Alright, Jack," Martha said, and with that she walked away. She kept walking until she was leaving the Torchwood Hub and stepping out into the fresh, cool air outside. She took a deep breath and let it go, getting out her phone and dialing a long, familiar number. She listened and waited, tapping her foot and fidgeting impatiently. Several rings issued in her ear, and still, still, she waited. Finally, she was told to leave a message (by an automated voice, no less.)  
  
And this time, she did. "Doctor, it's Martha. I hope everything's alright; you haven't been answering." The thought and the worry that The Doctor had gotten himself in even graver danger than usual or worse had crossed Martha's mind many times as well. "You're probably just busy; that's what you always say, isn't it? Busy? But look, Doctor, we really need your help. _I_ really need your help. Earth is in danger. People are being abducted, and terrible things are happening to them. My sister, Tish...she's been abducted and impregnated with some sort of alien, and we don't know what's going to happen to her." Martha felt herself growing more emotional and less able to stay composed as she went on. Now she fought tears, determined to stay collected and not break down. "We don't know if—" She had to pause, and she found that she couldn't finish that thought. She continued, "She needs you, Doctor. We all do. Please..."  
  
She stopped there. She had gone on long enough, she reckoned, and maybe even too long, but he had to know what was going on and just what was at stake. He had to know how much they truly needed his help. She hung up and pocketed her phone once more. Now she would just have to do as Tish had said, go along with things and see what happened.


	9. Briallen Baines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to post this update! I'm going to do my absolute best to make sure that that does not happen again.

The team was hard at work when Jack entered the main room of the hub. "Hey, Jack, I've been hacking into hospital records all morning," Mickey told him, ignoring a disapproving look from Martha, "and I reckon I might have just found something of interest."  
  
"Oh, Mickey Smith, I could kiss you!" Jack exclaimed. Mickey looked none too pleased by that notion, and Ianto raised an eyebrow. "But I won't," he added, looking from one man to the other. "Relax." After a slight pause, he said, "So, let's hear it then."  
  
"Right," Mickey replied, pulling up the files. "Her name is Briallen Baines, age 24, admitted initially for strange symptoms that turned out to be pregnancy related, has been admitted for abdominal pains and high fevers, and most recently for anemia." He pulled up more information. "Husband: Mervin Baines. Lives in... bloody hell, I'm not even gonna try to pronounce that."  
  
Ianto read off the Welsh name for him. Then, he added, "Great. I hope we aren't almost murdered and cannibalized by a bunch of nutters again."  
  
"What?" Mickey asked.  
  
"Long story," Jack said, "Basically, we had a very bad trip to the Welsh countryside. Anyway, Martha, you're gonna stay here with Tish, obviously. Ianto, Mickey, you two keep digging, see if you can find out anything else about these pregnancies or the creatures behind them. Gwen, with me, we're going to pay Mrs. Briallen Baines a visit."

 

The hub had gone quiet with only sounds of working and occasional discussion coming from Mickey and Ianto. Martha looked in on her sister and was surprised to find her awake; Tish had been sleeping a lot since their failed procedure was performed on her.  
  
She entered the medical bay. "Hey, Tish," she greeted softly, "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Been better," Tish said, "but you know I've been worse, too."  
  
Martha nodded knowingly; this was unfortunately not the first time her family had been harmed in some way by some sort of alien. "Are you in a lot of pain?"  
  
"I'm alright, Martha," Tish replied, "No need to fret over me."  
  
"It's my job both as a doctor and sister, I'm afraid," Martha retorted.  
  
"Oh, right," Tish said, almost smiling, "how could I forget?" She rolled her eyes playfully. "I feel okay at the moment, though," she added seriously, "I'm sore, but it's totally manageable and it's- it's weird, but I'm okay with being stuck like this, I mean I'm sort of okay with it."  
  
"What do you mean?" Martha asked.  
  
"I mean, well, I wasn't sure about the whole thing, and I'm still not. I'm still worried about what the right call was or what's gonna happen with me, with _it_ , but I'm sort of— I dunno— relieved that we couldn't get rid of it. It's like that choice was never ours to make,” Tish explained.  
  
“I guess I hadn't thought of it that way,” Martha replied, and she, too, felt a strange sort of relief from that knowledge. She hadn't failed Tish, and Tish was not even that upset about it. Still, there was a terrifying element to what Tish was saying as well, which was that the whole situation seemed out of their control.  
  
“Now, I just worry about what'll eventually happen to me or to it,” Tish continued, “but I guess that's out of my hands, too.”  
  
Martha admired the relative calm with which Tish could say such words. “Yeah,” she agreed as calmly as she could, “I supposed you might be right about that.”

 

Gwen and Jack had managed to get lost twice on their way to the Baines residence. When they finally believed they had reached the right place, they were still understandably wary. Gwen placed a knock on the old, wooden door.  
  
A very tall and very thin man answered the door. “Is this the residence of Mervin and Briallen Baines?” Gwen asked him.  
  
“Yes, mum,” the man answered, “You're speaking with Mervin now.” Gwen was surprised to hear his accent was English rather than Welsh. He still sounded very rural. “May I ask who's calling?”  
  
“We're from Torchwood,” Jack told him, “Special ops, we have some questions. Mind if we come in?”  
  
Mervin seemed resistant for a moment, but finally he relented. “'Spose not, come in.” To his wife, he called, “Bri! We've got company! Something called Torchwood; they said they've gotta ask us some questions!”  
  
Briallen Baines entered the main room of the house not long after Mervin, Gwen, and Jack had settled into it. She was short—much shorter than her husband, and she was heavily pregnant. “Can I get you anything?” she asked quietly.  
  
“No, love, we're fine,” Gwen replied, “You can have a seat if you like.”  
  
The Welsh girl took a seat beside her husband on their old, worn couch. Mervin placed an arm around her shoulders, almost protectively, and he asked, “So, what's this about then?”  
  
“We're doing an investigation on strange pregnancies,” Gwen explained. Not wanting to give too many details, she moved on to the questioning. “Is it true that you were recently hospitalized, Mrs. Baines?”  
  
“Yes, mum, I was,” Briallen replied, “The doctor said I need more iron.” Briallen seemed very polite and soft-spoken by nature, but it was clear that her current manner of quiet sedation had more to do with weakness and exhaustion.  
  
“Before that,” Jack said, “You were admitted with a fever and abdominal pains, and before that same song different verse, etc.”  
  
“They thought I might lose the baby.” Briallen had a distant, almost shell-shocked character to her tone and facial expression. “They still don't know how I didn't, one of 'em said.”  
  
Mervin was quiet but in a different less complicit way than his wife. He regarded Gwen and Jack coldly, never taking his eyes off them for more than the few seconds it took him to glance at Briallen with concern. He cleared his throat, and Jack assumed it was some sort of challenge, one that he would ignore for the time being.  
  
“Tell us more about the baby, Briallen,” Jack requested.  
  
Jack slightly mispronounced her name, Gwen noted, but he still said it better than Mickey had. Still, she couldn't help but briefly wonder whether an American bastardization of Welsh or a Cockney one was worse. She wondered if Briallen had even noticed at all.  
  
“What about it, sir?” Briallen asked.  
  
“What do you know about it? What have they told you? Any abnormalities?” Jack pressed.  
  
“Now hold on a minute—“ Mervin started.  
  
Briallen placed a patient, soothing hand on his shoulder. “It's alright, Merv. I want to tell them.” She looked at the other two. Her eyes began to shine. “It's a miracle.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” Gwen asked curiously.  
  
“Merv and I, well, we couldn't have a child on our own, and we can't afford fertility treatment or any of that.” Mervin seemed irritated at this casual airing of their personal life, but out of clear fondness for his wife he allowed it. “But then, one day I go to the doctor's 'cause I've been getting sick a lot, and it turns out I'm pregnant.”  
  
“At the risk of sounding rude, how sure are you that it's Merv's?” Jack asked, and Gwen was utterly convinced that he was completely aware (and unapologetic about) how that question sounded.  
  
“Now listen here, you—!” Mervin began.  
  
Again, Briallen managed to subdue him, although this time it took a little more effort. Still, she, too, seemed offended. “Just what are you implying?” She had notably dropped the “sir”.  
  
“Sorry,” Jack said, “let me back up. How certain are you that they baby was conceived by either of you?”  
  
“What are you? Some kind of nutter?” Mervin questioned.  
  
Jack ignored this and Briallen's lack of response, and he continued, “Have you ever experienced loss of time?”  
  
“I- I dunno,” Briallen replied, clearly confused.  
  
“Ever sleepwalk? Or end up somewhere with no clue how you got there?” Jack continued.  
  
“I- I dunno,” Briallen said, “I s'pose I might have.”  
  
“Do you ever feel like you're being watched? Or hear strange noises, probably at night?” Jack asked.  
  
“I- I guess sometimes,” Briallen responded.  
  
“Any sleep disturbances? Like maybe sleep paralysis or strange, recurring dreams?” Jack asked.  
  
“Jack,” Gwen stopped him. “You can't ask so many leading questions, and can't you see you've overwhelmed her!”  
  
Jack was quiet, but he was watching Briallen closely. Mervin was as tense as ever. Finally, the small Welsh girl spoke again, stunning everyone. “I do get that though. Sometimes. Sometimes I dream about lying on a table with bright lights in my face. There are always those lights, so bright they hurt my eyes, and I can't hardly see anything else at all. Sometimes I dream about these men, well, I think they're men, but I can never see them clearly. I don't know what it means; I just thought it was a pregnancy thing.”  
  
The room went silent and still. At last, it was Mervin who spoke. “They told us the baby had abnormalities, deformities...it didn't look normal, but they couldn't explain, _didn't_ explain what they meant or what was wrong with out baby or if anything was wrong with it... said they weren't even sure if it was a boy or girl. Three different doctors told us that. They said they thought it was a girl, but they couldn't be sure.” It was clear that Mervin was as worried and frightened as he was resentful, paranoid, and angry. Maybe Torchwood could help them when no one else could; that realization seemed to be slowly dawning on him.  
  
“Believe me, Mr. Baines,” Gwen told him with sympathy, “We want the same thing you want; we want answers. That's why we came here today because you can help us find the answers.”


	10. Studying and Helping

Briallen and Mervin Baines felt like they had stepped into some sort of science fiction film as they entered the strange headquarters of Torchwood. Mervin continued to do his best to hide his desperation and fear behind a wall of hardened defensiveness and bristling skepticism, but Briallen just looked all around her in utter awe. A pterosaur flew overhead, and she nearly leapt out of her skin.  
  
“What the hell kind of a place is this?” Mervin questioned.  
  
His question remained unanswered. “This way, please,” Ianto said, leading them to the medical bay where Jack had indicated that they would need to go for tests. As he walked away, he shot Jack another skeptical glance over his shoulder.  
  
“Jack, what the hell are they doing here?” Mickey asked once Ianto and the Baineses were away.  
  
“We need them, and they need us,” Jack replied.  
  
“Yeah, but aren't we gonna have to, I dunno, retcon them or something? People aren't supposed to know this much about us,” Mickey said.  
  
“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Jack said, “They are the only lead we have right now, and we need them here.”  
  
“So, are we studying them or helping them?” Martha asked.  
  
“Just get in there and start studying,” Jack said flippantly.  
  
Martha did not budge; she simply gave him a look that suggested that she would not do anything at all until she was spoken to properly.  
  
Jack sighed. “Or helping, however, you prefer to think of it.”  
  
That was as much as she'd be able to get out of Jack at the moment, Martha assumed. She went to the medical bay to join the others as she had been told. 

 

They were still doing blood work and had run some scans. A woman called Martha asked her questions as she checked her over. Briallen could scarcely believe this was really happening.  
  
“So, have you been terribly ill at any point of this pregnancy?” Martha asked.  
  
“Oh yes, mum,” Briallen responded, “It's been terrible at times. And now, they say I need more iron.” She paused and struggled with the next part. “There have been times when we thought I was gonna lose the baby or die.” She paused again. “We can't lose this baby. It's our miracle.” Mervin held her hand just a little more tightly as tears crept into her voice. He sniffed and cleared his throat gruffly.  
  
Martha gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, I've never seen anyone in your situation make it this far, for what its worth.”  
  
“So, is our baby really an alien, then, mum?” Briallen asked.  
  
“Yes, Mrs. Baines,” Martha replied, “I'm afraid that it is.”  
  
“That- That doesn't mean it's bad though, right? I mean that's not necessarily a bad thing,” Briallen said, trying to reassure herself and her husband, “We could still raise it and love it as our own, couldn't we? Couldn't we, Merv?”  
  
At first, Mervin was silent and completely still His brow was furrowed, his mouth a tight line. Briallen stared at him as though her life depended on his response, and Martha eyed him, knowing that he could give the response that most people would probably give and shatter this poor girl's heart...then again, people were always full of surprises. Finally, Mervin nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I s'pose we could.” His face softened a bit after he said it.  
  
“Have either of you seen it?” Gwen asked.  
  
“Seen what?” Mervin asked.  
  
“The baby,” Gwen said, “Have you done any ultrasounds or anything?”  
  
“Course we have,” Mervin said, “but there's always something weird about them; there's always 'abnormalities' that nobody can seem to explain to us.”  
  
“I can do my best to explain things,” Martha told them, “That is, if you're okay with it.”  
  
“Oh yes, mum! Of course!” Briallen replied. Mervin just nodded.

 

Once everything was set up and Briallen was ready, they began. As Martha moved the device over Briallen's stomach, they began to see images on the screen. “There we are,” Martha said, and she couldn't help but smile despite the circumstances. That was the Baines's “miracle”, such an unbelievable creature.  
  
Then, her eyes widened. This creature looked even less human than the one inside Tish! “Oh my God,” she whispered. To the Baineses, she said, “It's unbelievable. I can't believe what I'm seeing.”  
  
“She's amazing, isn't she?” Briallen responded. Then, she added, “The other doctors said they reckoned she might be a girl. I don't want to call her an it.”  
  
“Well, to be honest, it's a bit hard to tell. This alien race may not even have external genitalia as humans do, and your baby is very alien,” Martha replied, “It's, er, she's the most alien of these hybrid babies I've ever seen, granted I've only seen three at this point.”  
  
“So, you've seen this before then?” Mervin asked.  
  
“Yes,” Martha said, “It's happened to my own sister twice. She lost the first one fairly early on, but she's still carrying the second one.”  
  
“We're trying to figure out why this is happening to young women such as yourself and Martha's sister,” Gwen added, “We really appreciate the information you've given us.”  
  
From there, Martha answered all of Mervin and Briallen's questions that she could, to the best of her ability, and she also took notes about their experiences and the creature within Briallen.

 

“Jack, no!” Gwen argued once again.  
  
“We can't just tell people we're going to help them and then turn around and retcon them,” Martha said, “Besides, Briallen's pregnant. Do we even know the effects retcon could have on her or the child?”  
  
“Look, honestly, she's got bigger concerns than a little retcon,” Jack began.  
  
Martha cut him off. “Jack, as a doctor I am telling you, _no._ ”  
  
“And besides, Martha's right. We can help them; we even told them we would,” Gwen added.  
  
“We had to get them here somehow,” Jack replied, “Besides, they won't know the difference afterward.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, we will,” Martha said, “I'll know that we could have helped them, but we didn't. I'll know that I gave them some answers that they were desperate for, just to take them away. I'll know that I broke my oath as a doctor. No, I'm not doing that.”  
  
“ _You're_ not, but Torchwood—“  
  
“Oh, for God sake, Jack! They aren't going to go around talking about their alien baby or Torchwood's secret underground hub! People would just think they're nutters!” Gwen shouted.  
  
“True. Although, it _is_ protocol to administer retcon in a case like this,” Ianto interjected mildly.  
  
“That's right. Whether we like it or not, they can't remember any of this. People can't know about Torchwood,” Jack said.  
  
“I don't think it's right,” Mickey finally said after a pause, “I mean, think about it. Them aliens always make Tish forget, right? How does this make us any better than them?”  
  
Everyone fell silent. Finally, Jack huffed in resignation. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Let them go. Let them keep their memories.” In his mind, he could not help but note that letting the Baineses remember would have been The Doctor's choice.


	11. Medical Leave

“Would it be too melodramatic to call this the first day of the end of my life?” Kurt pondered aloud.

The girls answered simultaneously. Santana affirmed that it would be, and Rachel said it would not. He shot them both looks.

“Rachel, you can't judge what is or isn't melodramatic since you practically run on melodrama, and Santana's just looking for an opportunity to judge and ridicule,” he said. When they both froze, he added, “Relax, I'm kidding...mostly.” After gathering his belongings, he said, “I'll see you guys later.” With that, he exited the apartment.

One week. He had given himself one last week of normal life, and now it was up. He sighed. It was only a matter of time now, it seemed, before things got so much weirder and so much worse. He shook his head as if to banish the thoughts. He could not go there right now; he had some important errands to run.

He had already done one of the hardest tasks. He had given Vogue his two weeks notice at the beginning of his “last normal week”, which understandably already made it less normal. This week would be his last there, his one last tie to his normal existence about to be unfortunately severed. He tried but failed not to think about how he would absolutely never again be so lucky as he was to land such a dream job. This was it, his one chance at it, and it was being ripped from him by cruel and highly unusual circumstances.

Presently, he was about to board the subway. He absolutely dreaded what he was going to attempt to do, and for that reason he had put off doing it, refusing to do so during his precious “normal week”. With a note from Dr. Samuels that Kurt had not even tried to read yet (and he was unsure if he could, given the doctor's atrocious handwriting) and all the nerve he could muster, he was about to try to get a medical leave from the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts.

He had never heard of anyone trying to get any sort of leave from the academy, and he could only assume that was because it was simply unheard of. No one would dare to even ask probably. There was no telling how difficult it would be to obtain a medical leave. So, he would probably fail, but he had to try. Failing that, he would simply have to quit, and he knew there would be no coming back from that. At least with this, he had some semblance of a chance (ignoring the distinct possibility that he might still not be able to return.)

It was amazing, all of the little stupid things that he took for granted in daily life that he was going to miss. He might even miss taking the subway, or at least he knew he would miss the utter normality of it. He probably only had a couple of ordinary subway rides left. He looked around at all the other passengers, just living their normal lives and probably taking little stupid things for granted.

He decided to try and decipher the handwritten doctor's note that he was clinging tightly in his hands. Try as he might, Kurt could only make out fragments. He found the phrase “rare medical condition” but could not figure out the surrounding text. He gathered that Dr. Samuels was probably neither lying nor telling the whole truth. The phrasing he could pick out seemed to indicate as much; it all seemed very carefully worded, very thought out, like the man wanted to give the school administrators enough information to hopefully satisfy them but not enough to reveal the true yet unbelievable nature of what was really happening to Kurt. Kurt greatly appreciated that, this was going to be hard enough without the true nature of his situation further complicating it and further humiliating him.

 

His heart leaped into his throat when he reached his stop. “Okay. Okay. Breathe,” He mentally coached himself, “You can't do this without breathing.” He stepped off the subway and onto the platform, and he began walking briskly toward his destination (or as it presently felt to him, toward his probable doom.)

He made the rest of the trip rather quickly, and before he knew it he was looking up at the intimidating fortress that was NYADA. He stood before it for several moments, mentally coaching himself once more and trying to maintain some illusion of calm. He took a deep breath, let it go, and moved forward. Madame Thibideaux was expecting him, so he absolutely could not be late.

Despite his best efforts, he was a nervous wreck. At this point, he would just have to work hard at hiding it. He pocketed the note from Dr. Samuels and tried to dry his sweaty palms. He focused on breathing normally, like a calm person who did not suffer from any sort of occasional shortness of breath and who was most certainly not on the verge of panicking presently. His expression he forced into something far more cool than he felt.

Arriving at Madame Thibideaux's ever-foreboding office, he placed a knock on her door with a hand that shook slightly. He saw her glance up from her desk. “Come in,” she beckoned and went back to the work on her desk. Kurt was not sure he'd ever felt so much respect and terror for any other individual on Earth. He hoped he didn't seem as terrified as he felt inside, but he felt his eyes had gone a bit wide as he gazed upon the woman before him expectantly.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Hummel,” she said and soon after he obliged her request she turned all her attention to him, which proved to be so much worse than when she had only been giving him maybe half.

He wondered if she gave everyone she spoke with mild panic symptoms, or if he was just a mess. He got the note out of his pocket and smoothed it back out, anxiously fidgeting with it to occupy his nervous hands. Madame Thibideaux cleared her throat, and his attentions shot upward.

“Now, Mr. Hummel, I understand that you wanted to meet with me to discuss a medical leave,” the intimidating woman said.

Kurt nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I have the note here, from my doctor.” He extended his hand holding the note toward her.

She took the piece of paper and read over it. The silence was practically screaming at Kurt, but he took it as another moment to try to regain and maintain some composure. If he was going to pull this off, he was going to have to be cool and collected, or at least as much as he could be in the presence of Madame Thibideaux.

“I see,” she said and set the note down on her desk. “Mr. Hummel, do you realize how rare it is for this school to grant anyone medical leave? For anyone to even ask?”

Kurt nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma'am, I do. I wouldn't even dream of it if it weren't absolutely necessary.”

"And you do realize what sort of a position this puts us all in, what with you having just been accepted and registered for classes?” she continued with her interrogation.

Kurt nodded again. “Yes. I realize just how unfortunate the timing is.”

She considered the note again and looked at him skeptically. “And if this were a shorter leave, I _might_ grant it with fewer questions asked, but nine months is a long time. I mean, are you having a baby?”

“No!” His response was a little too quick, a little too frantic and defensive. “No, no, of course not,” he added, trying to soften it. He could feel his face turning crimson.

“Relax, Mr. Hummel, that was a joke. I would hope that would be more obvious,” the lady said dryly.

“Oh yeah,” Kurt said, mentally cursing himself. He laughed nervously.

“But really, why should we grant you such a long leave when you've only just begun to prove yourself here?” Madame Thibideaux questioned.

“B-because...” God, he was losing his cool. He swallowed. What was he supposed to say? He frantically searched his brain for all of his rehearsed material. He took a deep breath. “I-I know how unfortunate the timing is with this, believe me I've spent plenty of time agonizing over it.” He paused. Okay, that was a start at least. “But I can and I will make up for it. I will work ten times as hard to catch up, to prove that I belong here and that I'm not just wasting your time or space on the roster, to prove that your decision to reconsider me for this school was a sound one. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure my place here. I'll do anything, anything at all—”

She cut him short. “Please, Mr. Hummel, don't start grovelling. It's not at all becoming.” She paused and studied him until he thought the immense pressure of her gaze was going to destroy him. “But I believe you.”

He was prepared to apologize for everything, for ever asking, for ever bothering her at all and wasting her and the academy's time and resources. He was ready to resign and run away, until her words shocked him back to reality. “W-What?”

“I believe you, Mr. Hummel, and I believe _in_ you. I know you will work hard, and I know how much your place at this academy means to you. I know you would not miss a day that was not absolutely necessary,” she continued. Kurt was utterly floored and stared in awed disbelief. She went on, “I respect and admire your passion and dedication, and for that, I will see what I can do to grant you this unfortunate leave.”

“I— thank you,” Kurt responded completely flustered and amazed, “Th-thank you so much. I- I promise you won't regret this.”

“Okay, Mr. Hummel.” She somehow seemed both amused by him and utterly tired of him. “I'm holding you to that. You may go now.”


	12. Leaving Vogue (and Other Errands)

The answer Kurt had settled on for why he was leaving Vogue was “it's personal.” For some, that was it; others got a slightly extended, but none the less vague “a lot of stuff has come up, but I'd rather not talk about it here” or something similar. It pained him to lie to his boss, Isabelle, of whom he thought so highly, but she seemed to accept his reasons...whatever she thought they were.

Now, unfortunately, the day had finally come: his last day interning at Vogue. He couldn't believe how heartbreaking just losing a _job_ could be, but leaving this place, these people, this incredible opportunity was so unbelievably hard. He was going to miss everything and everyone so much, especially Isabelle, his “fairy godmother.” He owed her so much; he wished that he could tell her somehow that he was not just throwing it all away flippantly or for nothing. He hoped she understood that somehow, even as he told her nothing of his true situation.

He answered the phone and fought tears for a great portion of his last day, with occasional interruptions from co-workers. Then, towards the end of his shift, Isabelle called everyone into a meeting. Kurt didn't know what to expect or hope for. Suddenly, he found himself feeling very anxious and out of place (which stung, for this had been a good place for him for such a too-brief, but marvelous time.)

As he filed into the meeting room with everyone else though, he was no longer certain what to feel. He felt floored to say the least. A banner told him, “We'll miss you.” There were refreshments and snacks on a side table, and everyone in the room was either looking at Isabelle or him.

“C'mon, Kurt,” Isabelle said, urging him into the room and out of the doorway in which he was frozen in place. She pulled him into a hug, which he returned heartily once he got over his shock. Breaking away, she said with more volume, “You didn't think we'd let you leave without a going away party, did you?”

Now everyone was looking at him. “I-I don't know what to say.” He could feel tears forming in his eyes again. “Just thank you. Thank you all so much...f-for everything. Especially you, Isabelle.” He wiped his eyes and sniffed. “Sorry.” Someone handed him a box of tissues. He couldn't help but laugh slightly. “I told myself I wouldn't cry today, but I should've known better.” That got some chuckles from some people. He smiled and tried to maintain his composure.

Soon everyone dispersed and began mingling. Kurt took the opportunity to talk more with Isabelle. She gave him another hug. “Oh, Kurt, I'm sorry we can't provide any strong drinks during office hours, you poor thing.”

Kurt laughed weakly. “It wouldn't help. It'd probably just make me weepier.” And then he thought about how people in his condition shouldn't drink, and it made him sick.

“I know saying stuff like this won't help at all, but you really will be missed around here, you know?” Isabelle said.

“Really?” Kurt still was not sure that she wasn't just saying that.

“I'm serious,” she said, “C'mon, we all love you here. You're a hard worker, you care about the job, and you know fashion. Plus, you're a good person. You're like the whole package.”

“Wow.” Kurt felt floored all over again. “Thanks so much. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“You're cool, Kurt, and you've really helped me out a lot around here, so thank you. I just wish you didn't have to leave—”

“Again, I'm really, truly, sorry, and believe me, I really wish I didn't have to,” Kurt interjected.

“Kurt, it's fine, really,” Isabelle said earnestly, “I know how much this job means to you; anyone with eyes could see that leaving here is not something that you're doing lightly. I don't know everything that's going on with you right now, but I understand. I know you wouldn't just quit if it weren't necessary.”

“Thanks so much for understanding,” Kurt said.

“Of course,” Isabelle responded, “let's keep in touch, okay? If you're able to and cool with it?”

“Definitely yeah,” Kurt replied eagerly.

  


In the end, Kurt had to admit that the party had left him with a strange sense of closure. It was incredibly bittersweet, but if he had to leave he was glad to have had such a send off. He also pondered Isabelle's request to keep in touch. He wouldn't be up for any get-togethers for a while, but if he was really lucky, she'd still be interested several months later. He dared to be hopeful.

He had originally intended to leave work early and then complete the rest of his errands, but he couldn't bear to leave such good company (and one of his “errands” was to have some fun before becoming a total shut-in, so he reasoned that this was fulfilling that.) He ended up staying late and hanging out with Isabelle, his friend Chase, and a few others.

When he returned to the loft, Santana met him at the door. “Hey, Lady Hummel—!” She actually winced a bit at Kurt's reaction and shot him a quick apologetic look. That was a habit that was clearly going to be hard to break.

She continued, “You're just in time to join in on the unfolding drama.”

“Huh?” It had been something of a long day for Kurt, and he wasn't ready to follow either of his roommates' trains of thought just yet.

In a more casual tone, Santana said, “Berry's been all worked up about this whole possibly being preggo thing all day. She's peeing on a stick right now.”

“Oh,” Kurt replied. He briefly entertained the idea of being pregnant at the same time as Rachel and felt the intense need to crawl out of his skin as a result.

He had wondered why Rachel had put off taking the test. She had been so scared after all, and it wasn't very Rachel-like to put things off that way. Then again, she had been so scared. Maybe she was afraid of the possible truth; although, surely not knowing would be worse.

His thoughts were interrupted by Rachel emerging from the bathroom. She looked happy, so Kurt intuited that the results were negative. Still, he waited to hear it from her.

Santana didn't. “So, are you knocked up or what?”

“Nope,” Rachel replied with clear relief, “It's negative.”

Kurt wanted to be more happy for Rachel, but the cruel and bizarre irony of their situation was tormenting him. Still, he hugged her and said, “That's great, Rach!”

“Surely we have all learned a very valuable lesson from all of this, and that is never have unprotected ex sex,” Santana said. She glanced at Kurt briefly, but said nothing of his condition or its ironic timing. Although it still weighed on Kurt and made him feel very much like the elephant in the room, he was grateful that she did not point it out. He looked back at her, trying to silently convey this gratitude.

  


The following week was a very strange one for Kurt. He was having a hard time adjusting to the odd feeling of not having outside obligations. He just could not get used to the idea that he had no work, no classes at school. He had nothing except nervously straightening up the apartment, running his last minute errands, and his commitment to see Dr. Samuels soon.

His errands mostly consisted of getting clothing that would fit him in the coming months. Just the thought of it horrified him, so the task was a little maddening. He hated it. He absolutely hated every second of it. It was, however, necessary whether he liked it or not.

He also made it a point to take walks. He walked all over the city. He walked through the park. He took everything in. He would not be able to explore these places for a long time or possibly ever again.

He thought of all the things he had always taken for granted a lot more now. He wanted to take it all in, every single detail of every single thing. He people-watched, dog-spotted, and even bird-watched. He stared into the blue of the sky and watch the clouds roll by; he wanted to memorize the feeling of the fresh air and warm sun, thinking of how he might die soon and never again experience them. One day he walked in the rain, wanting as well to remember how that felt.

Then, one day he realized that his errands were completed. Now he needed to adapt to his new life as a shut-in. He couldn't keep going out; he would not be able to soon.

Maybe sooner than he thought...

He ran a hand down the length of his abdomen. The difference was small, but unmistakable. He stared at his stomach and at his figure in the mirror, and he observed something that had happened gradually but surely (despite his best efforts to ignore it) over the course of the previous weeks.

Now, it was finally getting frighteningly real. The time he had hoped he could somehow escaped if he denied it thoroughly and desperately enough was officially upon him. Seeing the difference, however slight, in himself made him profoundly uncomfortable, but he could not stop staring in horror.

His stomach was protruding slightly. It was small, yet, but it was enough to instill horror in him. It wasn't bloat, it wasn't fat, it was _it_. And this was just the beginning. His heart pounded nervously in his chest, and he felt sick. This nightmare was intensifying.

A knock on the bathroom door almost made him jump out of his skin. He placed a hand on his chest. “J-just a minute.”

“Kurt?” Rachel asked tentatively from the other side of the door.

“Just a minute, Rachel,” he repeated. He hated the quiver in his voice that betrayed any attempts to hide his current emotional state.

“Kurt, are you okay?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah,” he lied, “I'm fine.” In truth, he wouldn't know how exactly to describe how he was feeling if he tried.

“Okay,” his friend replied, “it's just you've been in there a while and—”

“I said I'm alright. Damn. Hold your horses,” he snapped. He tried once more to fasten his jeans, but the embarrassing realization was dawning on him that the task was one that he was now destined to fail. “Damn it,” he whispered with frustration. Realizing the situation this now left him in, he sighed and pinched the bridge of this nose.

And suddenly, he was more self-conscious than ever before. His shirt still fit fine, but now he wondered it maybe even it showed too much. He gave it another look over with paranoid, anxious eyes. His face was turning hot and red. Sheepishly, he asked, “Um, actually—Rachel, are you still there?”

“Yes, and I will remain here until you get out. I really need to go,” Rachel retorted.

“Okay, sorry, but I need you to go into my bedroom and get another pair of pants for me. One of the new ones.”

“Does it matter which ones?” Rachel asked.

He was glad that she seemed to be reserving any judgement of him or any otherwise embarrassing commentary. “Um, I guess not. Just the reasonably sized ones, not the huge ones.” He wasn't ready for those yet, but he felt those times ahead of him looming much closer than before.

“Okay,” Rachel said and presumably left to go on her quest.

In her absence, Kurt continued to be self-conscious and horrified and inspect himself. “God, I'm not ready for this,” he concluded anxiously. Then again, there was no preparing for something like this; he was never going to feel ready. It was always going to just happen, ready or not. Something about that, the utter helplessness of his situation, just made it all the more frightening. He moved a nervous hand over his slightly enlarged stomach. He closed his wide, scared, staring eyes and shook his head. He would never get used to this,and even if he did it would just continue to get worse.

Rachel knocked at the door again, and he cursed himself for jumping once again. “Okay, Kurt,” she said, “I got 'em.”

He opened the door just a crack. “Thanks, Rachel.” He took the pants from her and shut the door once more. She had retrieved a pair of sweat pants that did not at all match his shirt, but he supposed that it didn't really matter. It was not as if he was going out or expecting company; there was absolutely no one to impress or to care about what he looked like. Anyway, he would probably change his shirt since he was no longer so confident in its fit.

He sighed. Maybe it was not his clothes that he was no longer confident in or comfortable in. Maybe it was him; maybe it was, in fact, his own skin. Maybe it was his body that was already starting to change in horrifying ways.

“This is it,” he thought, once dressed, “this is the beginning of the end.”


	13. What's Usual Now

“Is now really the best time to be spring cleaning?” Santana questioned him.  
  
“Why not? It's spring, isn't it?” Kurt retorted facetiously. Santana just rolled her eyes at him, so he continued, muttering, “Besides it's not like I've got anything better to do.” Then another, more sickening thought occurred to him,” And I might as well do it now while I still can.”  
  
In truth, Kurt had no idea what to do with himself most the time now, and he had only been living as a total shut-in for around a week now. When he wasn't too sick, exhausted, depressed, or otherwise unable, he had taken to obsessively cleaning, organizing, and straightening up the apartment. One day he tried moving all their furniture around, only to find that he was not satisfied with the new arrangement and subsequently had to move everything back into place. Ever since then, Santana had taken to giving him more and more skeptical looks and watching him very closely like he was some sort of crazy person.  
  
Maybe he was. He certainly felt like he was going a bit insane. One minute he could not keep himself still, feeling desperate for any occupation, and the next he found himself sitting and staring at fixed points, feeling tired and utterly lost.  
  
And he could swear he was getting a little bigger everyday since he first noticed himself showing. He hated it. He felt fear, dread, and resentment every time his vision lingered too long on his growing abdomen; still, he knew it was unavoidable and would only continue to become all the more so. This knowledge was far from comforting; if anything, it only intensified his anxieties and his bitter disgust.  
  
This _thing_ , this thing that was invading his body and violating it in such a way, it was making itself more known to him with each passing week whether Kurt liked it or not. He still could not feel it, but now it was almost as if he could see it. Now he could see what it was doing to him and know that it was only going to continue to do worse. It had taken complete control of his body away from him, like some sort of freakish parasite, and for that he bitterly resented it.  
  
“Kurt, c'mon, you're wearing my ass out just watching you,” Santana said, “Sit.”  
  
“I'm not some dog. You can't just tell me to— fuck.” His head was spinning. He was getting dizzy less frequently at this point, but it still happened when he was not careful enough. Bending over and straightening up far too quickly and carelessly had caused it, he knew better than to do so, but he hadn't been thinking about his stupid body and its increasing inability to do basic things without complication. It was yet another way in which he felt he was losing control of his own body. He lost balance and wound up on his ass, feeling utterly ridiculous and ungainly.  
  
“Damn it.” He stayed sitting on the floor for several minutes, trying to make sure he could get up again without another dizzy spell. He waited for Santana to ridicule him; his face burned with humiliation and frustration.  
  
Santana had rushed to him when she realized he was falling. The only abuse she hurled at Kurt was an appropriate, if harsh, “I told you so.” She looked him over. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt replied with a frustrated sigh, “Yeah, I think so.” He briefly wondered if he could have somehow hurt the entity inside him, but he doubted that he could have and was too annoyed at the moment to care very much. “Just got dizzy. I'm fine now.” He was really aggravated and embarrassed, but he didn't exactly feel like sharing that with Santana.  
  
“C'mon,” Santana said, “Let's sit down for a while.”  
  
“I'm already sitting,” Kurt responded.  
  
Santana gave him a look that suggested she was not having any of his current attitude. For a moment, Kurt simply stared back at her.  
  
Finally, he relented. “Fine,” he huffed and began slowly trying to get up. In such moments, he was thankful that he was not any bigger than he already was; he dreaded what might happen if he should have to pick himself up off the floor in those nightmarish days ahead. As it stood, his body had already changed enough as to be slightly difficult for him to maneuver at times.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, after allowing Santana to help him stay steady. Then, she led him slowly to their couch.  
  
After a few minutes of silently staring at whatever trash was on television, Santana said, “Look, it's not like we don't appreciate all the cleaning and stuff, but—”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes and interrupted, “I'm sorry about the other day, okay. It was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking.”  
  
“This isn't about the furniture thing, Hummel, although that was quite the episode,” Santana responded.  
  
Kurt was silent. In truth, he had known that she was probably not referring to any specific thing he had done recently. Now he had no idea how to deflect. Santana let him go for several minutes, and they tuned at least partially back into the television.  
  
Finally, she said, “We're just worried, okay? Rach and I, we're worried about you.”  
  
“Well, don't—” Kurt started.  
  
“Kurt, you're only like—What? Three months into this thing; you've only been a shut-in for like a week, and you're already this crazy,” Santana finished.  
  
“Worrying doesn't change anything. It doesn't make this any easier or any less insane. And yeah, maybe I am going crazy, but you can't honestly tell me that you wouldn't be too in my position. I mean, there's nothing I can do—nothing _anyone_ can do— about this thing. This thing that's forcing me to become totally home-bound. This damn thing that might actually kill me.” Kurt had not meant to unload quite that much onto Santana, but she had pushed him.  
  
“Sorry I said anything,” she said quietly. Kurt wondered if that was her way of saying she felt sorry for him for everything he was going through now. Santana was just so damn hard to read. They resumed watching the television in silence.

 

Despite the fact that he was cloaked in a ridiculously large sweater, Kurt was paranoid and self-conscious all the way to the hospital where he was to visit Dr. Samuels again. How were they going to meet when things became impossible to hide? Kurt tugged on the hem of his sweater compulsively. It felt nearly impossible now.  
  
No one seemed to pay him any mind, and for that he was grateful. He made a mental note to talk to Dr. Samuels about the whole situation though. After all, it was entirely possible that the doctor had simply not thought that part of things through.  
  
He went over things in his mind. Did he have anything he needed to ask about? Well, he was anxiously wondering what he had to look forward to (so to speak) but assumed that that was a good portion of the reason for the visit.  
  
Mostly, he dreaded finally being able to feel it. He wondered whether knowing when to expect that would make it more or less scary.  
  
Also, he was unsure whether to mention it during the appointment or not, but he had been having odd and at times very disturbing dreams recently. Often times, he had trouble deciphering them. For the past several nights, he'd had a recurring dream where he was strapped to an operating table and being operated on without any anesthesia. He assumed it was just stress related and maybe also to do with his hormones likely being out of whack.  
  
The dreams often left him feeling odd when he woke up. Even thinking of them presently made him feel peculiar, but he doubted he could really explain why. It was almost like he was trying to recall something on the tip of his tongue. He also felt foggy and disassociated.  
  
He was so lost in these thoughts that he nearly missed his stop.

 

Dr. Samuels was almost too cheerful; Kurt had to remind himself that that seemed to be just the way the man usually was, so he wouldn't feel annoyed by it. The doctor was a nice guy and all, but under the circumstances Kurt wasn't thrilled to be visiting him. Still, he shook the man's large hand and smiled halfheartedly at him; no sense in being rude, after all.  
  
Once settled into the room, Dr. Samuels began to get down to business by asking, “So, how have you been feeling?”  
  
There were so many ways Kurt could answer that, but he figured he needed to respond with the most medically relevant information and skip his personal life. “Um, okay, I guess,” he replied, “About the same as usual, or what's usual now anyway.” He tugged absentmindedly on his top out of nervous habit.  
  
Dr. Samuels noticed but did not directly comment. “Any new developments or anything you want to discuss?”  
  
“Um, well, there was something I wanted to ask you about,” Kurt replied. He paused searching for the right words. “I- I don't exactly feel comfortable going out where people can see me now that, well, now that things are becoming more visible, so I don't really know how I can continue to meet with you.”  
  
“Of course, that's perfectly understandable,” Dr. Samuels responded, “Although, you've hidden things rather well today, for the record.” It was obviously an attempt to put Kurt more at ease, but it was only slightly effective. “I take it you don't know anyone who could give you a ride?”  
  
“No, unfortunately not,” Kurt said, shaking his head. He thought it was understood that almost no one actually drove in New York City. That wasn't usually such a problem.  
  
“Well, if you'd like, I can talk to my wife, and one of us can come get you and take you to and from appointments,” Dr. Samuels suggested, “Of course, we'll have to schedule them so that one of us can, and I'll have to make sure she's okay with the arrangement, but I'm sure she will be if I just explain things.”  
  
“I don't know. I mean I don't want to ask—” Kurt began.  
  
“It's fine, Kurt, really. I said I would help you with this, and this is part of that promise. We'll work something out. Don't worry about it,” Dr. Samuels said.  
  
Kurt was hesitant at first, but finally accepted the offer. “Thank you.”  
  
“So, anything else that you're concerned about?” Dr. Samuels asked.  
  
Kurt considered asking about the strange dreams, but decided against it. “Just that, um, I'd like to have some idea of what's to come. I understand we can't be sure about anything though, given the, um, bizarre circumstances.”  
  
“Well, that's one way to put it,” Dr. Samuels replied, “And you're right. It's hard to get anything about this case down to an exact science, but we can certainly take a crack at it.” He paused and examined Kurt's chart. “Okay, so our best estimation puts you around thirteen or fourteen weeks, give or take, so assuming this proceeds in a fashion similar to normal human pregnancy...timeline-wise, that means you're coming out of the first trimester and into the second.”  
  
Kurt could not tell if these words were meant to instill dread or ease his nerves in some way, but he definitely felt the former. “So, what does that mean?”  
  
“Well, it means— potentially—that you might feel a little better physically than you have been. A lot of the little annoyances of the first three months or so should hopefully subside. For example, you might get sick less often.”  
  
“That's good,” Kurt said. Maybe that was already happening; it had been at least a week since he last remembered getting sick. Although, he supposed he shouldn't get his hopes up. After all, the thing he had always hated the most about the sickness was that it felt so random, and he never knew when it would strike.  
  
“Yes, I imagine that would be good,” Dr. Samuels replied, “Of course, it also means that the entity will do a lot more growing, although the exact nature will be hard to predict. I know you're not looking forward to that at all.”  
  
“Well, it's not like I'm really excited about any of it,” Kurt said dryly.  
  
“True.” Dr. Samuels nodded. “Now, for today we'll just need to do a few tests, and I'm gonna look you over and just check a few things. Also, I'd like to try to get another look at the being as means of monitoring its progress, and we may be able to hear its heartbeat as well.”  
  
Kurt was not sure how he felt about the last statement, but he still consented. “Okay.” He briefly glanced down at his body. It was odd and more than a little freaky to think of there being something inside him that had a beating heart. The thought had him feeling very strange; it made this _thing_ that was ruining and endangering his life seem more real, more _alive_ , and he wasn't sure he was prepared to handle that sort of realization just yet.  
  
So far all of Kurt's visits to Dr. Samuels were similar. They chatted, first about the subject at hand and later, when they could, about almost anything else. Dr. Samuels checked Kurt over, recorded his weight, and then they did tests.  
  
They had not examined the being within Kurt since their very first meeting. Kurt felt intensely anxious about seeing it. He didn't know if he wanted to know what it looked like or how it was changing and growing within him any more than he already did.  
  
Still, when Dr. Samuels examined it on the ultrasound display and made notes and commentary, Kurt looked at it. Admittedly, the details were sketchy to him, but he tried to follow what Dr. Samuels was saying and indicating. According to Dr. Samuels, the entity resembled a developing human in many respects, but it still looked strange and alien to Kurt. Now when he thought about the _thing_ inside of him causing him such horrors and troubles he had an image to attach to it; he wasn't sure how he felt about that.  
  
Then, he remembered his question. “So, when will, um, when will I be able to feel it?”  
  
“Well, that's going to be a bit hard to predict, although considering how human-like it looks _maybe_ not as hard as I had feared...you _probably_ won't feel it until a few more weeks have passed, probably around the eighteen to twenty week mark, but even in normal human pregnancies there is a lot of variance, so you may feel things sooner or later than that.”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt said, and he felt an odd mix of feelings. He felt relieved that he may still have some time before he could feel the movements of the nightmare growing inside of him, but at the same time, he knew he would get to that point soon enough. Dread was practically his default emotion these days.  
  
Dr. Samuels used a device called a fetal doppler to try to detect the being's heartbeat. It took several seconds for Dr. Samuels to get the device in the right spot. Much like the ultrasound, the results did not make as much sense to Kurt as they did to Dr. Samuels. He was not sure what he expected the heartbeat to sound like, more like, well, a heartbeat, he supposed. Still, the strange sound had a definite rhythm to it. Dr. Samuels said the being had a heart rate slightly higher than the average human fetus.

“Well, everything else appears to be fine,” Dr. Samuels told him once they were finished, “As best as I can tell, everything's progressing more or less normally, so to speak, with no complications or anything.”  
  
“Well, that's good. I think I've got enough 'complications' already,” Kurt said.  
  
They set a date for their next meeting, and Dr. Samuels said, “If you have any questions or concerns between now and then, don't hesitate to call me.”


	14. Fran Blomstein

Scully could not measure the amount of time in her life she had spent in the basement office of the J. Edgar Hoover Building listening to Mulder talk about aliens and the latest UFO sightings. In short, it was a lot of time, and it was both amusing and a little concerning just how easily they had fallen back into their old routing after being reinstated to the FBI.

Presently, he was explaining how there had been an unusually high amount of sightings in certain areas of the country, particularly as of late the New York City area. It was apparently something Mulder wanted them to investigate, but Scully just wasn't convinced that they had a real case. Besides, old routines dictated that she had to be skeptical of what he was presenting her with; it was and always had been for his own good.

“There have been tons of these reports of people seeing strange lights in the skies,” Mulder continued.

“Tons?” Scully interjected, playfully poking fun at his word choice.

“Well, _a lot_ ,” Mulder said with a slight eye roll, “And a few individuals have come forward claiming to have been abducted.”

“And I'm guessing that's where we come in,” Scully said dryly.

“Bingo,” Mulder affirmed, “Specifically, there's a woman located in a town just outside of New York City who claims that not only has she been abducted by aliens, but that she's been impregnated with an alien-human hybrid.”

“And does she have any proof of this claim?” Scully questioned.

“Well, I'm sure she would say that she does,” Mulder replied, “At any rate, I was hoping to meet with her and discuss it.”

“But how is this even a case for us, Mulder? So, some woman claims to have been impregnated by aliens, so what? What _exactly_ would we be investigating?”

“Francine Blomstein's claims could mean something; they could be connected with all the UFO sightings reported in that area, and I think they are.” He lowered his voice and looked at Scully seriously. “I think we could be dealing with some sort of colonization attempt or some part of that process. I think it's imperative that we look into it.”

Scully would need more proof before she could draw any conclusions herself (and certainly before she could reach any conclusions as outlandish as Mulder's), but she recognized how important this matter was to her partner— and how important it would be to a great many people if his theory proved at all accurate.

  


Francine Blomstein lived in a small, old house in the outskirts of town. Mulder and Scully managed to get lost at least twice just trying to find the place. They pulled their rental car into a rough driveway behind an old Lincoln that had clearly seen better days.

Mulder placed a knock on the front door and was answered swiftly. “Hi, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, and this is my partner Special Agent Dana Scully,” he said as he and Scully showed their badges, “Are you Francine Blomstein?”

“Fran,” the woman corrected, “but yeah, this is she.”

“May we please come in? We'd like to talk with you regarding your reports of alien activity,” Mulder continued.

“Yeah, sure, of course, come in, come in,” Fran said, stepping aside and allowing them entry.

Fran's house was cluttered and cramped but not dirty. The lighting was dim, and the curtains were drawn. Scully gave Mulder a look, but Mulder clearly did not share her concerns about their informant.

“Can I get you two anything? Coffee? Tea? Just kidding, I don't have tea. Go ahead, and sit down, make yourselves comfortable,” Fran said.

“No, we're fine, thank you,” Scully said, taking a seat in a worn, old arm chair. Mulder sat on the couch adjacent to it, on the end nearest Scully.

Fran took the seat on the opposite end of the couch from Mulder. It took her a moment to get comfortable. Scully estimated just by her appearance that Fran was approaching the end of her second trimester. Her large belly was made all the more noticeable by her small frame and short stature.

“To be honest, I'm just surprised that the FBI's interested in such things,” Fran said, “Alien abductions, lights in the sky, alien-human hybrids, I mean it's all a bunch of crazy science fiction until it becomes your life!” Fran spoke quickly and very clearly liked to talk a lot. Scully wondered how difficult it was going to be to keep her on topic.

“And it's become your life, Ms. Blomstein?” Mulder asked.

“Please, call me Fran,” Fran replied, “And yes! It certainly has. Let me tell you, I never believed in aliens and that stuff before, you know; I was just a normal girl trying to make it in the world, but then I started having these strange things happen to me. I'd black out for hours and not remember anything, and I've got a really good memory usually. I used to remember all my dreams and everything, but not when I blacked out. I'd wake up in the morning more tired than I was when I went to bed, and I wouldn't remember my dreams, and that's how I'd know that I'd blacked out again.”

“Did you see a doctor about these episodes?” Scully asked.

“I did, but he said he didn't know what was going on. He did tests and everything. He said it had to be psychological or something. I think he just thinks I'm crazy,” Fran answered, “but it wasn't just blackouts. I started having these weird dreams, and they almost always had the same sort of stuff in them, like bright lights and weird voices. Then, I started having them when I was awake sometimes. Then, I started getting really sick all the time, so I went back to my doctor, and he asks me all kinds of questions and does tests. Lo and behold, I'm pregnant.” She gestured towards her stomach.

Scully was about to ask another question, but Fran continued, “Now, I'm right in the middle of a major dry spell, like I can't even remember the last time I had sex with anyone, which, of course, my doctor, he looks at me like I'm crazy when I first tell him that because 'hello, baby's gotta come from somewhere.' He made some kinda crack about the Virgin Mary, which I kinda laughed at, even though I didn't find it funny, and I'm a Jew anyway— ”

“So, then you think that you've been impregnated by aliens?” Mulder interjected.

“Absolutely, I do,” Fran said, “I know I have.”

“You said that you remember certain details of your abductions. Would you mind sharing these details?” Mulder asked.

“Well, I never get a good look at any of them, but they seem tall, really tall. The baby they put in me is gonna be really tall, too; my doctor and I both think so. I'm always strapped to a table that feels like metal, and they have bright lights, like super bright, all around me.”

“So, you don't know what the aliens look like, aside from their height? Or what their ship looks like?” Mulder asked.

“No, not really. If I do, I haven't remembered yet,” Fran replied.

“I think we'd like to speak with your doctor,” Scully said, “Would you mind telling us his name and how we might be able to reach him?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fran said, “He's Dr. Martis. I'll get you his address, just a second.” She got up and appeared to be searching for something. She continued speaking all the while, “He's a good doctor and all, but he's not too open-minded about the alien stuff. I'm sure he'd still be okay with talking with you though.” She located a pen and paper and scrawled an address for the two agents. “Here's some directions to his office and the address and everything.”

Scully got up, and Mulder somewhat hesitantly followed suit. She took the paper from Fran. “Thank you, Fran. If we need anything else, we'll be sure to stop by,” Scully said.

Mulder offered Fran a card with his name and both office and cell phone numbers typed on it. “And if you need anything from us or think of anything else we might need to know, here's my card.”

  


They weren't able to see Dr. Martis until the following day. In that time, they had each already developed vastly different theories (as was the norm) and had argued several times (which was only sometimes the norm.)

“Mulder, the woman is clearly mentally ill. You have to see that,” Scully restated as they approached Dr. Martis's practice.

“Maybe she is, and maybe she isn't, Scully. That's not the point. The point is she was abducted by aliens, and she has proof of that, even if it's proof no one is willing to believe,” Mulder countered, “Furthermore, Scully, so what if she is mentally ill? Can she not be mentally ill, but also a multiple abductee?”

“No, that's not what I'm saying at all,” Scully replied, “My point is that she's far from credible as a source.”

“Right, so since she's so apparently unstable she can't possibly be telling the truth,” Mulder responded with clear aggravation.

Scully knew they were dangerously close to not talking about Fran Blomstein anymore, so she simply said, “Look, Mulder, all I'm asking is that you consider that maybe this woman isn't remembering or experiencing things as they really are. You and I both know from experiences we cannot deny that alien abductions are real, but that doesn't mean every report of them is true.”

“Alright,” Mulder conceded, considerably calmer, “but only if you consider that maybe, crazy or not, Fran Blomstein is telling us the truth.”

  


Dr. Martis was nearly the polar opposite of Fran Blomstein, with his extremely tall stature and cold, reserved manner. If getting Fran to stop talking had been an issue, Scully could only imagine the trouble they would have just getting Dr. Martis _to_ speak with them.

“So, what can you tell us about Francine Blomstein?” Mulder began.

Dr. Martis looked at Mulder with sharp, dark eyes. “What would you like to know?”

“We're investigating her claims that she's been abducted by aliens,” Mulder explained.

Dr. Martis cut him off. “You can't be serious.”

“Excuse me?” Mulder said.

“Is this really the best use of our government's resources? Chasing UFOs? Listening to and actively encouraging the delusions of a very unstable woman?” Dr. Martis continued.

Funny, Scully had been worried he wouldn't talk, and now she just wished that he'd shut up. “We're not saying that we believe Ms. Blomstein's story, just that we're investigating it, due to the unexplained nature of her situation and reports of others that may be similar,” Scully said,” If you wouldn't mind answering a few questions, then we can continue our investigation elsewhere.”

“Of course, I will cooperate,” Dr. Martis responded, “but there's nothing 'unexplained' about her situation as far as I'm concerned.”

“Then, how do you explain it?” Mulder's tone was even and almost monotone, but Scully knew he was mentally cursing the man before them.

“Ms. Blomstein suffers from frequent dissociative fugue states that we're still investigating,” Dr. Martis explained, “it's entirely possible that in one of these fugue states— or 'black outs' as she sometimes calls them— she had sex and conceived a child. Or alternately, she's in some form of denial about the child she's conceived, possibly due to trauma, which would explain her outrageous claims and possibly her fugue states.”

Mulder looked at Scully, and she just shrugged. Scully could not deny that she found Dr. Martis's theory to be very sound, but, like her partner, she loathed his condescending and close-minded attitude. They both couldn't help but wonder if Dr. Martis was the sort of person Scully might have become had her life taken an entirely different course.

Something about that just set Scully even more firmly against the man. “So, then you haven't noticed any abnormalities in Ms. Blomstein's pregnancy or her baby?” she asked.

“There are some irregularities,” Dr. Martis answered, “but certainly nothing that cannot be explained rationally by factors such as congenital defect, exposure to teratogens, and so on.”

“Would it be possible to get a copy of Ms. Blomstein's medical records?” Scully questioned.

“It would be, although, I'm not sure what you expect to find,” Dr. Martis replied, “I mean, surely you don't expect evidence of any of Ms. Blomstein's outlandish claims.”

“We just want evidence of the truth,” Mulder replied, “Whatever that may be.”

After further discussion and obtaining a copy of Fran's medical record, Scully thanked Dr. Martis for his time (while Mulder was notably silent.) On their way out, the man sneered, “If you want to talk nonsense about UFOs and little green men, then I suggest you go see Dr. John Samuels at Marcus Blevins Medical Center. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to participate in whatever sort of investigation this is.”

The two agents left his office at that, with full intentions of looking up the man Dr. Martis had mentioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I made up the hospital name. I chose the least fake and/or stupid sounding name I came up with; sorry if it sucks. I can almost guarantee I won't mention it by name much if at all ever again; I just needed the name for that line to work.


	15. Dr. Samuels

Mulder and Scully were able to see Dr. Samuels the day following their somewhat fruitful but mostly frustrating meeting with Dr. Martis. Mulder was hopeful that Dr. Samuels was exactly as advertised, an apparent believer who would be much more cooperative than the last doctor they had spoken with. Scully, naturally, had reservations.

Dr. Samuels's office was not as meticulously organized and professional-to-a-fault as Dr. Martis's had been. The clutter of it made Mulder feel strangely at home; it was very much like the desk in their basement office at the FBI and a bit like their office at home (though Scully didn't let him get quite as wild with that one.) There was even a small bulletin board where Dr. Samuels kept things of personal interest to him, some of which were newspaper clippings and quite a few articles related in some way to UFOs. Mulder looked at Scully with an amused expression, and Scully simply looked horrified at the idea of dealing with two Mulders.

“Dr. John Samuels,” the man introduced himself as he shook Mulder's hand.

“Special Agent Fox Mulder, and this is my partner Special Agent Dana Scully,” Mulder responded, “We spoke on the phone last night.”

Dr. Samuels shook Scully's hand as well. “Yes,” he said, “I understand you wanted to speak with me, although I'm still not too clear what about.”

“We're investigating claims of extraterrestrial activity in this area,” Mulder replied, “We've been told you're the guy to talk to about that sort of thing.”

“Well.” Dr. Samuels seemed surprised. “I wasn't aware that my reputation preceded me.”

“It's something you learn to get used to,” Mulder said, “Trust me.”

“So, what can you tell us about the recent strings of alleged UFO sightings and alien abductions in this area?” Scully asked.

“Well, it's not limited to this area, based on my research,” Dr. Samuels replied, “but I have read quite a few accounts of UFO spottings near here. Unfortunately, I've never spotted any myself.”

“But you believe these claims?” Scully asked.

“Absolutely,” Dr. Samuels answered. He seemed to consider saying more but elected not to do so.

“More specifically, we've also heard claims of alien abduction,” Mulder said, “And not only that, but at least one abductee claims to have been implanted with an alien-human hybrid.”

Suddenly, Dr. Samuels seemed far less open to the two agents. “I am aware of such phenomena.” He paused. “No offense, agents, but why is the FBI investigating this exactly?”

“We want to help,” Mulder replied, “And if aliens are breeding hybrids then they could be planning something like colonization and that's certainly something I'd personally consider a matter of national security.”

Scully eyed Mulder skeptically, but Dr. Samuels seemed receptive. Something had changed in the other man's demeanor though; a certain unease had taken hold of him.

“So, if you know anything we'd strongly encourage you to tell us,” Mulder continued.

“Do you believe the abductees are in any danger?” the other man asked, “I mean aside from the obvious.”

“We don't know that,” Mulder said, “That's something we need to find out.”

Dr. Samuels sighed. “I can't go into details for reasons of professional ethics and personal promise, but I have a patient who has been abducted and impregnated with an alien-human hybrid, so I can tell you that it's definitely real and definitely happening.”

“What evidence do you have that she was abducted or that the baby is alien?” Scully questioned.

“Well, namely that the patient is not female,” Dr. Samuels responded, “Believe me. It's alien.”

“Would it be at all possible for us to talk with this patient?” Mulder asked. He had read an account from a man in the Midwest claiming the same thing, but that man was now deceased, and similar accounts were proving exceedingly difficult to find. This could be huge for their investigation.

Dr. Samuels, despite the fact that he seemed very eager to help, had clear reservations about this. “I'd have to ask him,” he said with hesitance. He adopted a stern expression. “It's entirely possible and very likely he will say no. Please accept that and respect his decision.”

“Of course,” Scully said.

“Just, if you can, try to let him know how really helpful his cooperation would be,” Mulder added, well aware that he was pushing his luck.

“Of course,” Dr. Samuels said, “If you wouldn't mind stepping outside...”

The agents complied and waited outside the doctor's office while he completed the phone call.

  


The conversation lasted several minutes. Mulder tried his best to eavesdrop, but Scully would not allow him to do so.

Eventually, the door opened, and Dr. Samuels emerged. “He will talk with you, but this had better be truly important because it took quite a bit of persuasion to get him to agree.”

They spoke with Dr. Samuels a littler longer, and he and Mulder exchanged cards. Then, Dr. Samuels gave them more information about the young man they were to speak with the following day.

  


On their way to Bushwick, they battled a heavy deluge of rain and unrelenting traffic. They were grateful at least that the building in which Kurt Hummel resided was easier to find than Fran Blomstein's house had been. Several flights of stairs later and they had finally reached their destination.

A Latina girl answered the door not long after they placed a knock upon it. She studied them quickly with sharp, dark brown eyes, and before they could properly introduce themselves, she turned and yelled, “Kurt! The feds are here!”

“May we come in?” Scully asked.

“Yeah,” the dark haired girl said. She then left them in the doorway and walked up to a door located on the other side of the apartment. She spoke softly, and the agents couldn't make out her words. Presumably, she was speaking with someone else, but they could not hear the other side of the conversation.

The girl returned carrying a purse. “I've gotta go. He'll be out in a bit.”

Kurt emerged not long after the girl had left. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. He had a very unusual voice, higher in pitch than most male voices. “You can make yourselves comfortable.” He had clearly been ill; his face was almost sheet white. He went to the kitchen and got a glass of water.

The agents took a seat on the couch, and Kurt sat in a nearby chair. Kurt wore an over-sized sweater, but it did not completely hide his condition. He shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

Scully subtly elbowed Mulder, who was staring. “I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is my partner Fox Mulder,” she introduced them, “I take it you're Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt nodded. “Yes, I am” He was a very composed individual despite his illness and very young age. “Dr. Samuels said you needed to speak with me about...” He seemed to struggle with the words. “About my condition.”

“We're investigating claims of extraterrestrial activities in this area,” Mulder said.

“And Dr. Samuels has told you what he believes has happened to me?” Kurt replied. His hesitance to participate in the investigation was clear.

“Dr. Samuels told us that he believes you've been abducted by aliens and somehow implanted with an alien-human hybrid,” Scully said, “What is it that you believe has happened?”

“I-I don't know...To be honest, I don't know what to believe anymore,” Kurt answered, “I-I mean, I don't' know if I really believe it was aliens, but I just— I don't have any other answers at this point either. I just don't know.”

“Have you spoken with any doctors besides Dr. Samuels?” Scully asked.

“Well, early on, back before I had any idea what was going on...Or, um, when I had even less of an idea than I currently do...I-I spoke with a few. I knew there was something wrong with me, but nobody could figure out what was going on. When I finally ended up in the hospital, Dr. Samuels was the only one who really helped me and gave me any answers at all. He still is,” Kurt replied, “And I know he sounds crazy sometimes, but everything about this is crazy.” This was clearly not the first time he had had to defend Dr. Samuels.

“So, you don't believe you've been abducted?” Mulder questioned, for clarity.

“I-I don't know,” Kurt replied, “And to be honest, I try not to think about it.”

“Why is that?” Mulder asked curiously. He couldn't personally understand being a walking X-File and not wanting to know why.

“Because it's... just too much...it's too crazy. It's a bad sci-fi movie, and if I fully commit to the whole aliens did it theory then that makes it too real for me,” Kurt said.

“Well, look, not to be rude, but it's obviously very real. I mean, you're living it. You're walking proof it's real.” Mulder was really pushing it, and he knew it. Two different sets of blue eyes were giving him harsh looks. Kurt's glare, though fierce, Mulder could stand up to, but Scully's made him back down a bit. “Sorry. I guess I just don't understand where you're coming from.”

“No, you don't,” Kurt replied coldly, “You have no idea. You're investigating this, but I'm living it.”

“You're right,” Mulder conceded. Then he carefully added, “But don't you ever want to know _why_ you're going through this. Do you not have any memories of this being done to you? Do you not have any questions?”

“I don't remember,” Kurt replied, his tone losing its bitter edge, “and I-I don't want to remember. Whatever happened to me, aliens or whatever, I can only assume it was something awful.” He paused. “And as for questions, yes, of course, I have questions. Of course, I wanna know why something this horrible and impossible is happening to me, but what good would it do me to ask them, even to myself? No answers are gonna change anything, even if I had any. It's already been proven to me that this whole situation is out of my control.”

Kurt was afraid. The boy clearly did not want to admit as much outright, but, despite his best efforts of putting up a front, certain vulnerabilities were evident. He was afraid to believe, scared of whatever the truth was; Scully knew firsthand what that felt like, and she hadn't had to face it at the tender age of nineteen. Kurt was little more than a child and had to deal with something like this; Scully now understood why Dr. Samuels had been so protective of him.

“So, how long has all this been going on? How long have you been this way?” Scully asked him, changing the subject slightly.

“A few months,” Kurt replied, “I guess thirteen or fourteen weeks to be exact.” He fixed his gaze on the floor as he recalled the weeks. “I've only known about it for about a month or so.” He paused. “I guess it's good I found out when I did, or I'd be _really_ freaked out now.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward slightly.

“So, what's it like?” Mulder asked curiously, “If you don't mind my asking.”

“I don't mind,” Kurt replied a bit hesitantly. He was quiet for a moment. “It's...weird. It's, um, _really_ weird. It's, um... I don't even know honestly.” He didn't say aloud “it's scary” or “it's embarrassing”, but he didn't have to. It was written all over him. “I don't understand how or why it's happening to me, and it really... sucks...for lack of a better phrase.”

After they had talked with Kurt a bit more, the two agents thanked him for his time, and each shook his hand. Mulder gave him his card. “Call us if you remember anything,” he told the boy, and with that, they left.


	16. Santana's Plan

Kurt couldn't recall much of the previous night, but he remembered going to bed so he assumed he had just slept really deeply and without dreaming. Still, despite that distinct probability, he felt exhausted. He closed his eyes again for a moment and then reopened them. He moved to check the time, but soon regretted it for two reasons.

One, it was almost noon. How had he managed to stay in bed half the day? It wasn't as though he had an actual reason to get up earlier, but it was the very principle of the matter.

Two, a wave of nausea hit him hard as soon as he moved. He groaned and lay back down. Dr. Samuels had said the sickness might be ending soon, but that had been a couple of weeks ago. Evidently, Kurt would not be so lucky.

His motivation to get out of bed had waned. What was the point? All it seemed he had to look forward to was being more sick and more tired, not to mention the depressing reminder that he had nothing to do and nothing to look forward to except things getting worse.

If he got up and ate something mild and drank some water, it might help ease the nausea; he knew this. Still, the idea of actually ingesting anything was unappealing. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle.

  


“Do you think one of us should go check on him?” Rachel asked. “It's after noon, and he's still in bed.”

Santana seemed to be considering it. “He was up late last night,” she commented, “I don't know what he was doing, but I heard him moving around. I was just praying he wasn't moving furniture.” Rachel frowned and turned her big, brown eyes on Santana, pressuring her for a real answer. Santana sighed. “He probably just wants to be left alone.”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll— ”

Santana cut her off. “I know he doesn't want you fussing over him. I'll go make sure he's okay at my own risk.”

“'Fussing'? Really? I do not fuss...”

Santana just rolled her eyes and left Rachel to rant alone.

“Hey, La— ” Damn it! Why was that stupid nickname so hard to stop using? Now was definitely not the time to call Kurt a lady. Come to think of it, maybe calling him that had always been wrong. Santana shook her head. “Hey, Kurt, is it cool if I come in?” She said on the other side of the privacy curtain surrounding his bed area.

She was met with several seconds of silence. “You're actually asking?” was the incredulous eventual reply.

“Hey, I'm still traumatized from the last time I entered unannounced,” Santana said, but they both knew that she had other reasons. They were just willing to pretend it was some great fear of seeing Kurt in the nude again that motivated Santana's actions rather than any sort of kindness or sensitivity. Santana really appreciated how Kurt knew she could be nice and acknowledged it without putting it back in her face and making it all weird or making a big deal out of it.

“You may enter, by the way,” Kurt said, after another pause.

Santana moved the curtain slightly and stepped into the “room”. Kurt was still in bed and was curled up his side on the very edge. He had his arms wrapped around his growing midsection, and he looked very pale and sickly.

“Berry wanted me to make sure you weren't dead or something,” Santana said, “Should I poke you with a stick to be sure?”

“Probably,” Kurt said, “but please don't.”

He wasn't just physically ill though. Santana saw that look in his eyes that he typically got on his more difficult days. Today was gonna be a depressed, staring at the walls, laying around, and quietly crying kind of day. She'd rather die than admit it, but it made her heart (that she totally didn't admit to having) break a little for her friend.

He would want to be alone, especially if on top of the depression he was pukey, but he probably did not need to be. She wouldn't tell Rachel this, but Rachel had been totally right to want to check on Kurt. They would need to keep an eye on him today.

“Do you need anything? Like water or crackers? Or...? I don't know whatever else helps with the whole puking thing?” Santana asked.

Kurt made a noise and heaved a little. “Ugh. I don't know. Maybe don't say that word though.” He paused. “Thanks though.” His eyes were closed, and he was taking deep breaths.

“Have you eaten anything?” Santana asked with some concern.

“No,” Kurt replied, “Everything sounds gross.”

“Uh, okay.” Santana didn't really know how to argue with that. “Well, I'll leave you alone now, I guess... if that's what you want.”

“Okay,” Kurt said.

  


Not long after Santana left, Rachel came barging in carrying a sleeve of crackers and a steaming cup of what Kurt had to assume was a tea of some kind of mint or some similar concoction. Rachel meant well, but the smell of it was turning Kurt's stomach.

Willing himself not to vomit, he asked, “What is that?”

“This? It's a mint tea. I read that it's supposed to help with morning sickness,” Rachel said.

“Well, tell that to the parasitic invader,” he retorted, heaving, “'cause apparently it hates mint.”

“That's odd. Mint is supposed to settle your stomach.”

“Yeah, go figure,” Kurt said with irritation. He quickly leaned further over the edge of the bed to grab his nearby trashcan, so he could make use of it. Once finished, he shuddered and added, “Men aren't supposed to get pregnant either, but here we are.”

“I was only trying to help,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, well, you failed,” Kurt said. After a pause, he said, “Sorry. Thank you for trying though, really.”

“I-I guess I'll go get you some water instead,” Rachel said, “You need to eat something though. I read that the sickness is worse on an empty stomach.”

“You've been reading too much,” Kurt responded, “but okay.”

He watched her go and then closed his eyes. As terribly out of character as it normally would be, he wondered if maybe he should just give up and sleep all day. He was certainly tired enough to do so, and when he was asleep he could escape his waking nightmare (even if that escape sometimes just led to more nightmares.)

It wasn't like it really mattered anyway. He had no reason to even be awake. His options were basically be awake and both feel awful and apparently freak out his roommates or stay in bed and make it all stop for just a little while.

He was tired of things happening to him; he felt like he had absolutely no control over his own life. He had become just a passive figure, just letting things— bad things, almost always bad things— happen to him, and having no choice or say in the matter. He just had to deal with it, and he was so tired, so very tired of dealing. He felt utterly lost and hopeless.

  


“He's really bad today,” Rachel said when she left Kurt once again, “He barely said two words to me when I brought him that water.”

“Yeah,” was all Santana said. She was still and quiet.

“I'm really worried about him, San,” Rachel said, “He's been like that a lot lately. I'm scared— I- I don't know what he's gonna do.”

“Yeah,” Santana repeated, “Yeah, I know.”

“We need to do something,” Rachel continued, “but... I don't know what to do.” Rachel had a penchant for melodrama, but when she was truly, seriously upset about something she could be shockingly subdued.

“I'm thinking of things,” Santana said, watching Kurt as he finally emerged.

  


Adam was just leaving the auditorium after a meeting with the Apples (yet another meeting where he continually found himself looking at the door as though that could make Kurt come through it), when he received a call from a strange number. He studied the number displayed on the screen with some confusion, contemplating whether he should answer.

“Hello,” he greeted with hesitance once he had made the decision to answer.

He got no further than that. "Listen, Downton Abbey, we need to talk.”

“Santana? Is that— ?”

“Yeah, listen. Kurt's being stupid, and I guess it's up to me to stop him from making regrettable and idiotic decisions at this point,” the voice that Adam knew had to belong to Santana continued.

“Now hold on a minute— ” Adam began.

“Look, I can't or probably shouldn't tell you exactly what's going on, but stuff is going on with Kurt, and he needs you, even if he's too stupid and hard-headed to admit it.”

For a moment, Adam was utterly speechless. He wanted to argue with Santana, protest at the way she was speaking about Kurt (even if Kurt had hurt him), but on the other hand Santana had just said that Kurt needed him. “What?” was all he could manage.

“Kurt's either gone off the deep end or he's about to. He thinks keeping you away is a good idea for some reason. Like I said he's being— ”

“Okay,” Adam interjected, “Enough. Stop calling him 'stupid' and all that.”

“Oh c'mon! You can't possibly be defending him right now! The guy's been ignoring you for weeks. Besides I was gonna say ridiculous that time.”

It did hurt, yes. Just being reminded of it made it sting anew. Still, he could play all that close to his chest. “I-I'm sure he has his reasons. If he wanted me involved in whatever's going on with him, he'd let me in, but obviously he doesn't.” He ended that more bitterly than he had intended.

“Okay,” Santana said, and something about her tone had subtly begun to shift into something utterly unfamiliar to Adam, “Listen, it's like this. This whatever, this thing that's going on with Kurt. It's serious.”

Something about the change in Santana's normally hard and aggressive demeanor into this stranger, gentler form coupled with the words “it's serious” caused a slight panic in Adam. He dropped his guard, not something one commonly does facing Santana. “What's going on? Is he alright?” Now he was practically showing her his soft underbelly.

She didn't eviscerate him surprisingly. She continued. “He's— I don't know. It's weird. You just need to come over and see him. There are things going on that I can't even begin to explain right now, and Kurt would probably kill me if I tried, so I'll leave it up to him to explain.”

“But wouldn't that be a bit weird, showing up unannounced? I mean Kurt doesn't even want me there.” He sounded more wounded than he would have liked. It was as if he had forgotten everything he'd ever known about acting all of a sudden. He silently cursed himself.

Still, Santana didn't ridicule him. “Kurt wants you there. He won't admit it, but it's so obvious.” That was a little more like normal Santana, but it was quickly followed by the weird, softer version, “He really needs you. I-I'm honestly worried about him. Just come by tomorrow, okay?”

Santana wouldn't lie about something like this, surely. “Absolutely, of course,” he replied, “I'll be there.” With what he was hearing, and with how much he already wanted to see Kurt, he wished dearly that he could just go to the loft right then.

They worked out a specific plan and decided he'd show up around five, if he could stand to wait that long. Then, in conclusion, Santana added, “Oh, and you tell _anyone_ about this— ”

“Got it,” Adam agreed with an amused grin, “I won't tell a soul that you were ever kind to me or Kurt.”

“Better not,” and with that the strange phone call ended.


	17. Adam

There was a knock at the door. Who the hell could that be? Surely the girls knew they could not have company with Kurt around. Kurt practically ran to his curtained off “bedroom”.

“Kurt!” Santana called after him, but quickly gave up. She rolled her eyes and dismissively waved a hand. “Oh, fuck it.” She answered the door. “Adam Crawford,” she said, and Kurt's heart dropped into his guts. Surely he had heard her wrong. “Just the man I wanted to see,” she continued, and there was almost a wicked delight in her voice.

This was the cruelest thing Santana had ever done to him, and he swore he would never forgive her. It only got worse when she called for him again. “Kurt, someone here to see you!”

He wanted to scream “fuck you, Santana” but that would mean blowing his cover. For a naïve moment he dared to hope that if he remained silent he could remain hidden. He realized quickly that Santana was not going to let him try that.

“Kurt, c'mon, we both know you're in the loft. It's not like you leave it anymore,” Santana said.

  


Adam was not sure what she meant by that, and it made him even more uneasy. As did the fact that Kurt was apparently hiding from him. Whatever was wrong did not seem like something he could help with or like something Kurt _wanted_ his help with. “Maybe I should go,” he said, “I don't think I'm helping anything.”

“Oh, no,” Santana said, “You're staying.”

“Santana, we can't hold Adam hostage,” Rachel said, “...but maybe you can stay for tea?” She looked at Adam with eyes that had a certain desperation to them.

Adam really did not want to stay, not like this. Still, he did not want to be rude. “I suppose I could, yeah.” He looked around the loft warily.

“Great,” Santana said with a fake smile that could only mean she was scheming. “You guys get that going, and I'll go talk to Kurt.”

Adam and Rachel exchanged looks, each of them clearly wondering whether it was a good idea to let Santana go talk with Kurt.

  


“How could you?” Kurt seethed. “How could you... invite him over? Do you even know how fucking hard this has been for me? What part of 'I don't wanna involve Adam' don't you fucking get?”

“Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there, Lady Hummel,” Santana said.

“Don't fucking call me that,” Kurt snarled.

Santana held up her hands. “My bad. Sorry. Old habits, you know. Anyway, yes, I know how hard this has been on you. Believe it or not, I am capable of understanding and even sometimes feeling a broad range of human emotion.”

“Then, why— ?”

“Why bring Adam into things? Simple. You're losing your damn mind, and missing Adam is a huge part of that. Rach and I were worried, and also we'd rather not have a total basket case for a roommate. Adam can help make this all a little less shitty, so let him.”

Kurt was shocked, momentarily almost forgetting his rage. “I never knew you thought so much of Adam.”

Santana rolled her eyes and retorted, perhaps a little too defensively, “I don't, but you clearly do, and besides given your track record, I mean, he's the best guy you've ever dated, even if that's not saying much.” Santana paused and watched Kurt for a moment. Her tone softened. “Look, Kurt, I care about you, okay. Rachel does, too, and so does Adam even though you've honestly treated him like shit.”

Kurt sighed. “You think I don't _know_ that? Knowing I was hurting him, even if it was for his own good, has been killing me.”

“So, go fix it then,” Santana shot back.

“Santana— ” Kurt started to protest.

“What are you so afraid of?” She questioned.

“Rejection, humiliation, there's a list. It's quite big. I could go on,” Kurt replied.

“So, what? You're just gonna hide from your problems in here? In the most obvious and embarrassing hiding place ever?” Santana said, “See? Shame? Humiliation? Already covered.” She gestured toward his face that was turning intensely red. “Now, as for rejection, and I presume heartache. Well, you've already been all heartbroken and mopey for weeks, and you haven't even really been rejected. Why don't you _at least_ give him the chance to say yes or no?”

A voice on the other side of the curtain interrupted them. “Kurt?” Adam said tentatively, “Um, sorry, if I'm interrupting or intruding, but Rachel wanted me to tell you that we made tea, if you want some.”

“Oh, she's good,” Santana said, after they heard Adam retreat, “I don't give Berry enough credit. She is _good._ ”

The way Adam had said his name, so obviously unsure of where they stood now, of Kurt's feelings toward him. It hurt so much; Kurt couldn't breathe.

He already missed that voice so much it hurt, and now it sounded so heartbroken. Kurt couldn't handle it. What the hell was he going to do? “Fuck,” he whispered, tears stinging in his eyes. He almost found himself pulling back the curtain and rushing out, but the impulse to stay hidden was even stronger.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked, “What am I gonna tell him?”

“Well...” Santana looked him up and down. “The truth.”

“I don't want him to see me like this,” Kurt confessed. He looked down at his slightly enlarged stomach. The idea of Adam gazing upon this deformity was a living nightmare as was the thought of trying to explain the whole situation to him.

“You'll get over it,” Santana said, “C'mon.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the curtain.

At first, he resisted, but after a moment or two, he suddenly found himself going along. It still wasn't easy, of course. His heart pounded frantically, and practically every nerve in his body screamed at him to run and hide, but Santana was right. Kurt Hummel did not run and hide, that would be totally undignified, and this condition had already robbed him of enough of his dignity.

And suddenly, there he was, out in the open, in front of everyone, exposed. He felt like he was on fire, and he really wished he could just sink into the floor he was staring at. He dared a glance upward at Adam. “Hey,” he greeted sheepishly.

“Hello,” Adam returned just as awkwardly. “Would you like some tea?” He added, trying to ease their weird tension.

Kurt didn't respond right away, but he forced himself to move into the kitchen and closer to Adam. He busied himself preparing his cup of tea and only dared to glance at Adam again when he no longer felt the other man's eyes on him.

  


Adam was dying to ask what was going on. Why had Santana invited him? What was so seriously wrong with Kurt? Why was Kurt avoiding him so much? Why wouldn't he talk to him or even much look at him now?

Still, Adam knew Kurt. He knew Kurt was hiding something, that he was avoiding talking for a very specific reason. He studied Kurt and looked him up and down. Something was wrong with Kurt, and Kurt did not want to talk about it. It was probably related to his bizarre physical condition that became more apparent the longer Adam silently observed Kurt. There was the elephant in the room.

The tense silence was killing Adam, but he had already intruded so much that he did not dare break it. He would have to respect Kurt's boundaries on this, even if doing so drove him mad.

Finally, Kurt spoke, “S-so, how have you been?”

Hurt by Kurt's sudden and inexplicable rejection. Missing Kurt. Tired of being the nice guy that people date for a while and throw away. Still worried sick that something bad had happened to Kurt. There were many things Adam could say to answer that question honestly, but he said none of them. “Fine, I suppose.” When that answer did not sit well with him, he added, “You know, besides being worried about you... and, um, us.” There he had sort of said it. “And you?” he asked.

Kurt gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “It's complicated.”

Adam was not sure if he could stand it any longer. He was normally a very patient man, but right now he wished more than anything that Kurt would just explain everything. Still, he waited, assuming the other man would continue.

“And I'm sorry,” Kurt said, “I'm really, really sorry about avoiding you for weeks.” Clearly, he meant it very sincerely. There was pain in his voice that told Adam this had hurt Kurt, too. “I-I had good reason...or at least I thought I did.”

“Well,” Adam said finally, “I'd like to hear it, if you don't mind.”

  


Kurt sighed. Explaining this to Adam was already way worse than explaining it to the girls or even his dad. “There's, um, there's— something's happened to me, and there's a lot going on, and I thought it was better if you weren't involved.”

  


Kurt didn't want Adam in his life anymore. It was like a knife in Adam's heart. Still, he held out for the rest of what Kurt had to say.

Kurt must have sensed the hurt that Adam was trying not to show. “For your own good! I didn't want you involved because I thought it was better for you. Not for me. God, no. I never wanted— ” He stopped himself. “I didn't want to end things. I didn't ever want to hurt you, at least not any more than I had to, and I really didn't want to lose you.”

What could be going on that Kurt felt he had to protect Adam from? Relief that Kurt still cared for him mixed with confusion. Adam watched Kurt and waited intently for him to continue.

When Kurt did not, Santana interjected, “Oh for fuck's sake, just tell him already, Hummel.” Whatever small reserve of patience she possessed was clearly running out. She sounded utterly done with the both of them.

  


Kurt glared at Santana and then back at the floor. It was not that easy. It was hard enough letting Adam see him. Now to try to put the whole situation into words was an entirely different, more excruciating task. It was never easy, and having to do it now, with a man he had fallen for as his audience...

First and foremost, it was humiliating. Then, secondly, it was literally unbelievable, an impossibility that was somehow happening anyway, that he could not even begin to properly explain. What if Adam didn't believe him? “Well,” he noted silently, “you do now have some physical evidence.” And this thought brought him right back to his primary concern once more. His face burned, and he was pretty certain that he had never wanted or needed to disappear more in his entire life.

This was all too weird and embarrassing for him. How could he expect it not to be too weird for Adam as well? Kurt tried to prepare himself for the inevitable rejection as he just knew Adam would realize Kurt had been right to try to keep him from getting involved in this weird, freakish mess.

  


Sensing Santana's claws were out full-time and about to take another swipe at Kurt, who was clearly struggling, Adam gently urged him, “Kurt?”

“It's— ugh, I don't even know how to explain. I don't even know where to begin. This is gonna sound crazy, and it _is_ crazy, but not in a made-up, delusional way, in a how is this even happening kind of way. And it's probably gonna sound like a bad joke, but it's not, so if you're gonna laugh at me just wait 'til I'm not around to hear it— ”

Santana cleared her throat impatiently. Adam eyed her with annoyance and quickly returned his gaze to Kurt. For a brief moment, their eyes actually met. “I won't laugh at you,” he told Kurt seriously, “I promise. I would never.”

“And it's okay if you don't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either,” Kurt added.

“You've never lied to me before,” Adam replied, “And I've never known you to be of unsound mind.”

“Well, you might change your mind about that— ” Kurt responded.

“If you don't tell him what's going on, then I will,” Santana interjected.

  


“Just shut up, Satan,” Kurt said, “I'm getting to it.” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “There's something really weird going on with me. I don't even begin to understand it myself. My doctor says aliens did it, and as scary as that sounds, he's the only one giving me any answers or helping me at all, so aliens aside, I'm more or less trusting his judgement. It's— okay, it's, um, well, we only can go on what it looks like, but...” This was the hard part. He didn't want to say it.

“He's having an alien baby,” Santana said.

Kurt was going to kill her. The only thing that could convince him not to kill her at that moment was that he knew Rachel Berry would be the worst at helping him hide the body and keeping the secret. “God damn it, Santana!”

She held up her hands. “Just trying to help.”

“Just stop,” Kurt said, “Stop helping. You're not helping.”

  


Adam looked back and forth between the two of them, feeling both hopelessly confused and caught in the crossfire. He wondered if he should, or even could, de-escalate the situation. “Um— ”

Neither of them seemed to even notice Adam's attempted input. “Just stay out of this,” Kurt hissed at Santana, “let me handle it. You've done enough.”

“Whatever,” Santana said, “I'll go bother Berry, I guess.” With that, she left them alone.

After allowing him several seconds to fume silently, Adam prompted Kurt. “Kurt?”

  


Kurt took a deep breath. It took him a moment to find any words at all. Finally, he said, “You know, the most messed up part of all this is that her explanation was basically accurate, and she knew I could never word it that bluntly.” He paused, and his eyes had a distant look to them. “There's-there's something inside me, growing and— they can't get rid of it— and I don't know how or why or what's gonna happen...see? I told you it was crazy.” He paused again. “I mean, I guess you could tell by looking at me now that I'm not making it up.” He briefly uncrossed his arms, just for a moment not trying to hide. It was not long before they were crossed again, closing him off once more.

  


Kurt was clearly insecure in a way that made Adam ache for him.

Adam looked him over, but only briefly since Kurt was very evidently uncomfortable. The account he had just heard sounded absolutely mad, but he could not deny several factors did make it believable. For one thing, as Kurt had just indicated, Kurt did look like he had a small, but noticeable pregnancy belly. For another, it was clear that— however confused or skeptical Kurt was on certain details— Kurt believed this was really happening, and even Santana (and, Adam assumed, Rachel, too) seemed to believe it. It all really did seem crazy, but it also really did seem real.

Still, Adam had one question that had never been answered, “So, why did you think I'd be better off out of the picture?”

  


His question gave Kurt hope, but he approached with caution. “Don't you wanna be?”

“No,” Adam said, more quickly than either of them expected, “No, not at all. Why would I?”

“Because this is really, really weird,” Kurt replied, “Like uncomfortably, awkwardly, freak-show-level weird, and-and as much as I try not to even think about this, it's probably only gonna get worse. Like way worse.”

“That doesn't bother me,” Adam said, “Well, it does, but only because of how it affects you.”

“Adam,” Kurt said, “I don't— ” He paused. This was also awkward and hard to say. “I don't want you to feel any obligation to me. I- I know what this is going to do to me, what it's already doing, and I know that I'm not— I'm, um, I'm not going to be attractive to you anymore, and I don't want you to feel like you have to stay with me if you don't really want to, or like you have to pretend to have feelings for me that you no longer have.”

“Kurt, I care about you,” Adam said, “I care an awful lot about you, and I hardly think that's going to change. In fact, I'm rather certain it would take more than something like this to change those feelings.”

“I think you underestimate how big this something is gonna get,” Kurt responded.

“And I think you're underestimating just how much you mean to me,” Adam countered.

Kurt couldn't argue with that, and he definitely didn't want to. He was certain that his mouth was agape with shock, but it was rapidly formed a smile as he realized what this meant. “So, you're not gonna leave me then?” He was positively ecstatic; he had not felt joy like this since this whole mess began.

“Of course not.” Adam smiled, too. He moved a bit closer to Kurt.

Kurt closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around the taller man. He didn't have to lose Adam after all. He did not have to do this alone.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find it in his heart to forgive Santana for this after all.


	18. Trust Issues

Although Fran Blomstein, Dr. Samuels, and Kurt Hummel had given them good information regarding the recent alien abductions taking place in New York, it was proving difficult to convince those above Mulder and Scully of the need to investigate the matter further. There was a case in a small town in Minnesota that Mulder believed was almost certainly related to the alien activity in New York, and if they could just investigate there next, Mulder hoped he could offer proof of his claims, that he could impress upon everyone else the urgency of the possible situation they were facing. People were being seriously harmed and even killed, and it was a very distinct—hell, very likely—possibility that this was all part of a plot to colonize Earth.  
  
Aliens were using humans to reproduce offspring, and they were even using men for whatever reason. They were creating hybrids. Why would they want or need to do that? Was it part of a long term plot to infiltrate human society from the inside? Would these hybrids look human enough to do that? Mulder had seen that before, so it wasn’t hard to believe that it could be possible.  
  
“Mulder, come take a look at this,” Scully said, rousing him from his contemplation. She was working on her laptop and up until about a minute ago had been typing furiously. They had come home, but had both brought work with them. It was funny how they both still did that, even all these years later. At least now, they could do it together.  
  
Mulder walked over to where she sat on their bed and asked, “What is it, Scully?”  
  
“I’ve just received a very strange email,” she responded.  
  
“‘Strange’ how?” Mulder asked and thought about making some sort of crack probably about pornographic spam until he became too distracted reading the contents of the email message in question over Scully’s shoulder.  
  
The message claimed to be from a top secret special ops group from the UK, known as Torchwood. Something about the name rang a bell; maybe he had something about a “Torchwood” in one of his files perhaps. They described events very much like the ones he and Scully were currently investigating. Apparently, they too were investigating this phenomena.  
  
“They’re proposing that we work together, help each other,” Scully said, “but how do we know if they even a legitimate organization?”  
  
Mulder studied the email message and considered it. “We don’t.” He paused. “We don’t know if we can trust them either. Better save that message.” They might need to look more into this Torchwood group and their findings later.

  


“I don’t get it, Jack,” Mickey said, not looking away from the computer as he continued to type, “Why are we trying to contact the American FBI? And what’s so special about these two agents in particular?”  
  
“Special Agent Fox Mulder and Special Agent Dana Scully do what we do— or at least they think they do,” Jack answered, “I’ve been keeping track of their work for years. Usually it’s nothing, just a good read for a laugh, but sometimes they do find something actually alien, which means they can be either helpful or dangerous, depending on the case.”  
  
“And you reckon they’re investigating this whole alien pregnancy thing?” Mickey asked.  
  
“If they aren’t already, I know they will when they find out about it,” Jack replied, “Trust me. This is right up their alley.” After a pause, he added, “Keep working on getting those files, Let me know if you find anything.” With that, he headed back towards his office.  
  
“Sure thing, boss,” Mickey replied and continued working.

  


“I’ve hacked into some of their files, but they don’t have much,” Mickey said, after working furiously at the computer for several minutes.  
  
“Have they contacted us yet?” Martha asked, emerging from the medical bay.  
  
“No, they haven’t,” Mickey replied.  
  
“And they probably won’t,” Jack said, “sending them a message via email was more of a formality. We need to contact them in a more direct way if we actually want a response.”  
  
Sensing a command coming, Mickey asked, “Alright, boss, what do you want me to do?”  
  
“I need you to start hacking again; this time we need to find a way to establish video contact,” Jack explained.  
  
“So, like a video chat, then? That should be fairly easy,” Mickey said, a tad smugly and got immediately back to work.

  


They had been in Minnesota all of a day, investigating the mysterious death of Joseph Taylor and the equally mysterious disappearance of one of his neighbors Cassidy Fleetwood, and Scully was typing her usual notes when suddenly she noticed the light near her laptop’s webcam activate. Quickly she closed her work and moved away from the machine, debating whether or not to close it.  
  
Knowing Mulder would return soon, she sent him a text message (not something she did terribly often) alerting him to the situation. Just as she was about to close the laptop, she heard voices issuing from it. One was British-accented and very cockney, and the other sounded American, albeit a bit odd.  
  
The British voice sounded a bit far off at first, as if he had moved away from the microphone to shout across a room at someone. “I think I’ve done it!” he said, “But I don’t see anyone there.”  
  
Scully’s mind raced. What was going on? She was far too captivated to close the computer now. Suddenly, she remembered the strange email from the other day. “Torchwood,” she thought. She listened on.  
  
“Well, they’ve gotta be there, right? The computer’s running, and someone was just working on it,” the cockney man continued, probably replying to someone inaudible to Scully.  
  
At this point, the American voice spoke, “These two are professionals when it comes to being paranoid. Trust me, they’re there.” He sounded like he was slightly far away but getting closer as he spoke.  
  
Around that time, Mulder entered the hotel room, and even though she had been expecting him, Scully nearly leaped out of her skin. Mulder remained silent, having clearly gotten her message, but gave her a questioning look.  
  
The American-accented voice issued from the laptop again. This time he sounded close and was direct. “Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully? This is Captain Jack Harkness with Torchwood. We know you’re there, so you might as well at least talk to us.” The latter part was said so casually, the man might have just as well been asking them out to lunch.  
  
Mulder and Scully looked at each other. Should they play along? After a tense moment of indecision, they concluded that they would do so very carefully.  
  
“Alright, we’re here. Now what do you want?” Mulder said at last.  
  
“Oh, so authoritative!” Captain Jack responded, “Don’t I get to see the face that goes with that voice?”  
  
Mulder looked at Scully, who raised an eyebrow. Was this strange man flirting with him? He shook his head, refusing to let the odd remark shake him. “State your business first.”  
  
“Alien abductions, lots of them,” Captain Jack said, “and a lot of unwanted pregnancies as a direct result.” After a pause, he added, “You guys got our message, I’m sure.”  
  
“You said you’re a top secret special ops. What could you hope to gain from working with the FBI?” Scully asked.  
  
“Ah, now that’s definitely a voice I want to see the face to,” Captain Jack said.  
  
“Just answer the damn question,” Mulder responded.  
  
“A little protective, I see. I don’t blame you for that,” Captain Jack said, “We want to work with you two specifically, not necessarily the FBI, because this situation is bigger than all of us and we need all the help we can get. We understand that this sort of thing is your specialty.”  
  
“And how do we know we can trust you?” Mulder asked.  
  
“Well, I guess you don’t,” Captain Jack replied, “but I think we would be a lot of help to each other, seeing as we’re investigating the same thing. So, we could try to work around the trust issues for the greater good, don’t you think?”  
  
The two agents looked at each other, considering the strange captain’s words.  
  
“I can have Mickey send you some of the data we’ve collected so far on this case, and all you have to do is send us your findings,” Captain Jack continued.  
  
“I’m guessing that you’re just gonna steal them from us if we don’t send them,” Mulder commented.  
  
“That’s probably a fair assumption to make,” Captain Jack said, his tone becoming slightly ominous.  
  
“So, we might as well get something out of the arrangement,” Mulder continued. With hesitance, he crouched beside the hotel bed and turned the laptop around. Scully moved into the frame beside him, curious to see the strange man they had been dealing with.  
  
The handsome man on the screen beamed at them. “Alright! I’ll have Mickey send you those files. I’m sure it will be a pleasure working with you both.” With that, he disconnected.  
  
Mulder and Scully looked at each other. What had they just gotten themselves into?

  


“Any word from The Doctor?” Mickey asked Martha.  
  
She shook her head. “Still nothing.”  
  
“Oh.” Mickey’s brows furrowed. Wasn’t this whole situation the sort of thing The Doctor should get involved with? Why wasn’t he already there trying to save the Earth with them? He probably had some sort of reason, but Mickey had his doubts it was good enough. Not when there were lives at risk.  
  
Before Martha could speak up again and break his thoughts, Jack entered the medical bay and interrupted them, “Ah, Mickey Smith, just the man I wanted to see. I’ve got another job for you.”  
  
“Yes, boss?” Mickey asked, looking at Jack expectantly.  
  
“I need you to look up Dr. John Samuels, try to get as much on him as possible as well as the Marcus Blevins Medical Center and any patients he might have and any other information that might be helpful to this case,” Jack explained.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Mickey said. Back to his station at the computer then.

  


After many long hours of hacking, researching, background checking, and more hacking, it was revealed that Dr. John Samuels was an adamant UFO and extraterrestrial enthusiast, was once an obstetrician in a different hospital before ending up in his current job, was happily married to a woman but was childless, and had at least one patient that he had seen recently that might be of interest to Torchwood’s current investigation. Mickey would have to keep digging for more info on that last part, but having gotten as far as he had already he didn’t figure it would take him too long. He was also prepared to hack both Dr. Samuels’s personal and work computers in the same fashion he had hacked Special Agent Scully’s laptop, in the event that Jack wanted to contact Dr. Samuels the way he had contacted the two FBI agents.  
  
In the end, it was decided that, for now at least, contacting Dr. Samuels was not worth the risk. Dr. Samuels had less to offer them directly than Agents Mulder and Scully, and he seemed even more likely to tell others about them. They couldn’t risk that kind of exposure any more than they had to. They’d already risked enough by working with the two FBI agents.  
  
No, John Samuels would have to help them without knowing he was helping them. His patient on the other hand...Well, they would have to see about that.


	19. The Autopsy and the Interview

Joseph Taylor’s body lay on the metal examination table. As Scully began her examination of him, she couldn’t help but wonder if his death had been ruled as simply “unknown” due to ignorance or due to an utter and tragic lack of caring. When they talked to people in the area about the young man, it seemed as though very few people had really gotten to know Joseph. Maybe he just hadn’t been the type to let others in, which was, in a very twisted way almost funny now as Scully was about to cut him open and see what was inside him.  
  
A simple look at his outside could already tell someone that there was something seriously wrong inside Mr. Taylor. His abdomen was swollen and misshapen. He looked, outwardly at least, almost as though he had been impregnated and had been heavily so when he died.  
  
Opening him up, Scully immediately found a structure that was clearly foreign and did not belong in the body. It was attached very cleanly, however, and, in fact, Scully couldn’t find any evidence of scarring or stitching or anything. If she didn’t just _know_ that Joseph Taylor was a biologically male human being, she might have thought the organ looked like it belonged. Well, that and the fact that it was crowding his other organs, which indicated that it had been forced to occupy a space it wasn’t meant to.  
  
The organ itself was enlarged, and there was very evidently something inside it. Scully’s eyes grew wide. Could it be? Would they have actual evidence of an alien-human hybrid?  
  
“Making an incision on the strange organ,” she continued her narration for the recording of the autopsy. “Oh my God,” she breathed.  
  
The creature looked almost but not quite human. Its nose was underdeveloped, even for its current stage, and its eyes looked a bit too large. Its head was maybe a bit larger than a human’s might be at this stage. Its skin was dark, with an olive tone to it. Its limbs were very long, as was its entire body.  
  
So, there was little doubt, then— assuming the hybrid was real, which Scully would soon test to be certain— that Joseph had been abducted and that the claims about what had been done to him had some evidence to substantiate them. After taking more notes and taking pictures of the dead hybrid being, Scully continued examining Joseph. After all, they still needed to know what specifically had killed him.  
  
“Damage to surrounding organs,” she noted, as she continued to investigate. It was admittedly hard to focus on poor Joseph after seeing what had been inside of him. The very thing that probably had, albeit indirectly, killed him. There had been a time when Scully wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, believed it, but that was long ago, and now it was just one of the many things she had seen that put everything she once thought of as absolute fact into question.  
  
Joseph’s medical record had been a slim file. Either Mr. Taylor had hated doctors or had been healthy as a horse for most of his life. And yet the damage done to his body by the hybrid creature inside him alone didn’t seem sufficient enough to kill him directly.  
  
Unless the creature had stressed his body in other ways. Perhaps his body had tried to fight against it like the foreign invader that it was, and when it failed, it shut down. There was no doubt that the strain on his body had contributed to his death in some way, but that wasn’t a specific cause of death. All of the organs that Scully had examined so far appeared weakened in one way or another, but which one had ultimately caused Joseph’s death?  
  
Perhaps… she examined the heart. Another organ undoubtedly stressed by whatever had been done to Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor had been found outside his home, on his property and was presumed to have died doing yard-work. Putting further strain on a body already under great stress. It was entirely possible, even plausible, his heart had simply given out.  
  
But then… could it really be that simple? Wouldn’t someone have already pieced that together? Was there _that_ little thought given to this man’s death, which by all rights should have garnered at least a horrified sort of curiosity? Or perhaps, one look had been given to the deformed man, and it had been assumed that whatever had caused his deformity had caused his death and no one had bothered to look any further than that.  
  
But at any rate, it appeared that Joseph’s heart had given out on him, judging by the looks of it and by Scully’s lack of any other direct cause of death. Still, it was undeniably a result of his condition, a condition which had stressed the rest of his body as well, and she made sure that was clear in her notes.  
  
Having finished with Joseph Taylor, she removed her gloves and called Mulder, eyeing the lifeless being that lay on the table. Mulder was definitely gonna want to come take a look at this.

  


“So, _that_ was inside of Joseph Taylor?” Mulder asked, staring at the dead creature on the table with horrified (yet clearly thrilled) curiosity.  
  
“It was housed inside of some kind of implanted organ. Something akin to a uterus, although it only slightly resembled anything human,” Scully responded, still taking notes as well as pictures.  
  
Mulder snapped a few himself, using his cell phone. “That’s incredible, Scully.”  
  
“Well, not for Joseph Taylor,” Scully remarked, “but it certainly is remarkable. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I mean, whoever did this must have had access to medical technology unlike anything I’ve ever even heard of.”  
  
She put on another pair of gloves as she began to physically inspect the strange being before them. Its dark green skin seemed particularly tough for something that still presumably had some developing left to do. Its face was very human-like, with some noticeable differences, namely a less pronounced nose and a larger, more pronounced forehead. It had no hair, and Scully wondered if it eventually would have grown some. Its eyes were larger than a human infant’s.  
  
The body and the limbs were long and skinny. Its hands and feet appeared to have only four digits. The genitalia was present and appeared similar to that of a human male at this stage of development.  
  
Scully carefully made an incision from the chest to the lower part of the abdomen. Inside, there were organs mostly appearing either human or human-like, albeit some were not fully developed. Scully noted anything that appeared abnormal by human standards, and she did her best to explain these details to Mulder, who was endlessly fascinated by the entire process.  
  
“Whatever this is, it seems to be more like a human than not,” she concluded. Sensing Mulder’s disappointment and also wishing to make herself more clear, she added, “But it certainly couldn’t be mistaken for a normal human at the same stage, or at any stage of development. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen or heard of before.”  
  
“Would you say it’s definitely alien?” Mulder asked.  
  
“I wouldn’t say anything definitely,” Scully said, “Not until I have all the facts, but based on this examination of both Joseph and the strange being, I would say that’s entirely possible. At any rate, something strange is going on here, and something is being done to people like Joseph Taylor and Kurt Hummel and maybe even to Francine Blomstein and Cassidy Fleetwood.”  
  
“I guess we need to talk to Ms. Fleetwood to find out more,” Mulder added with a nod.

  


Cassidy was a young woman, still in her twenties, and had a very unassuming appearance. She was small and slight of frame with big blue eyes that currently looked haunted. As she invited Mulder and Scully into her home, her voice was quiet and soft and would have sounded gentle were it not for the slight tremble running through it.  
  
“Thank you for allowing us to meet with you,” Mulder said, almost feeling as though they were trespassing somehow.  
  
“It’s fine,” Cassidy responded, “I-I could use the company anyway. Ever since Joseph… I get so… Well, you know how it is— this old house, it feels ten times bigger when I’m alone and sometimes I hear things and I get so… Oh, listen to me! I’m babbling like a crazy person! I’m sorry!”  
  
“It’s okay, Ms. Fleetwood,” Scully said, “We understand you’ve been through a lot. That’s why we appreciate your willingness to speak to us about all that’s happened.”  
  
Cassidy nodded. “Poor Joseph,” she said sadly, “I wish he were still here; he would’ve had so much to tell you, even if he probably wouldn’t have wanted to.” After a brief pause, she asked, “Do you know what happened to Joseph? What caused him to die?”  
  
Scully wasn’t certain whether Cassidy was asking to determine how much they knew or asking because she herself did not know his exact cause of death. Cautiously, she replied, “We know something was done to Joseph, that something was placed inside his body, which deformed and damaged it. His death was ultimately a result of that damage.”  
  
“You were Joseph’s closest neighbor, correct?” Mulder asked Cassidy, “And you two were pretty close?”  
  
“Oh yes, he lived just down the road from me. We became good friends over the few years I’ve lived in this old house. He’d give me firewood in exchange for desserts, and sometimes he’d come over for coffee or I’d come over to his. I came to visit him and stay with him a lot over the last few months because he was sick or hurting so often,” Cassidy replied  
  
“Did he ever talk with you about what was happening to him?” Mulder asked.  
  
“Yeah, he would tell me what he could. Sometimes he didn’t know or didn’t understand or didn’t remember, but he would tell me what he could, and he told me I was the only person he told that stuff, that no one else believed him when he tried.” She paused and bit her bottom lip. “At first, I didn’t believe him either.” She seemed ashamed. “But then, well, after a little while, he started getting so big, and I had to believe him then. And anyways, I didn’t think he’d lie about stuff like that, and I didn’t think he was crazy or I didn’t want to believe he’d gone crazy. And I was pretty sure _I_ wasn’t crazy either.”  
  
“So, what did Joseph tell you was happening?” Scully asked.  
  
“He said, well, at first, he didn’t know, but he knew something was very wrong with him. Nobody believed him or took him seriously. But then, after a while, he started to remember being taken, being experimented on, operated on, strange beings checking on him and checking on whatever they put in him. He told me about all of it, as best as he could remember it and explain it.”  
  
“Do you remember anything about your own recent disappearance?” Scully questioned.  
  
“It’s coming back to me in bits and pieces,” Cassidy responded, her eyes never leaving the floor in front of her, “I know what happened to Joseph is happening to me now. I remember them taking me— or, well… I don’t remember that, but I remember being wherever it is they take people to. They did tests on me. I think something must’ve went wrong with something because they don’t usually keep people for days like they did with me, or at least I never heard of them keeping Joseph that long, if they ever did he didn’t tell me, and I didn’t know about it.”  
  
Her gaze finally shifted, and she placed her hands on her stomach. “I don’t remember if they’ve done it yet or not, but I know they mean to put one of their babies inside me, too.” She looked at Scully with fearful eyes. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, especially if it’s as hard on me as it was on Joseph.”  
  
“I can’t tell you it will be easy, but for what it’s worth, I believe, in my medical opinion, that it was harder for Joseph because he was male. We’ve spoken with another woman in your position who is much further along and seemed fairly healthy, considering the circumstances,” Scully told her.  
  
“That’s good to hear.” Cassidy didn’t look particularly relieved; her eyes remained glassy. “I mean, it isn’t ‘good’, but…” She bit her lip again.  
  
“Is there anything you can tell us about the beings or the place they take you to?” Mulder asked.  
  
Cassidy worried at her lip further. “I never remember what they looked like. It’s blurry in my head. I think maybe they hide their faces somehow.” She paused. “If Joseph knew, he never told me.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “They take me to a place with a table and bright lights… bright lights in the dark, there’s a lot of dark, I think, but the lights blind me. My eyes burn just to think of ‘em. And it’s cold… I think… I think they take my clothes away, and that’s why I get so cold. I-I’m sorry… that’s-that’s all I can remember. They don’t let us remember.”  
  
“Do you remember anything they did to you specifically?” Mulder continued.  
  
“I wish to God that I did,” Cassidy replied in earnest, “But I know they did medical tests of some kind to Joseph, and I know they put one of their things into him, and I know they’ll probably do it all to me, too, if they haven’t already.”  
  
Her fear and her grief were clearly overwhelming the young woman. They had probably gotten everything from her that they could for now, and there was no sense in putting any more stress on her in her current fragile state. Mulder and Scully stood.  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Fleetwood,” Scully said.  
  
Mulder gave her a card. “Call us if you remember anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost one year later and here it is! I promise I will try to update this fic more than just once this year, but at this time I cannot make any promises as to when those updates will come or how frequent or regular they will be. Just bear with me. I promise I will get this thing finished someday. To those who have stuck around and are still reading, you are the real mvps, and I love you. To any new readers, hello! Welcome and be prepared to wait a long time between updates because it might just happen! And I love you, too.


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